Magnum Opus: Book One: Exodus
by Gryphon Aerie
Summary: Humanity doesn't get introduced to Mass Effect technology through the Prothean Archives, nor the Mass Effect Relays. Instead, in the very near future, a younger and more foolish Humanity discovers an ancient shipwreck near the southern pole of our own Moon. But this discovery does not lead to peace on Earth. AU, Alternative Alliance, Pre-Contact.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own any of the series used in the production of this fanfiction. I would list the things that I do not own, but I would prefer to keep the number of spoilers down if at all possible. Suffice it to say that not all of the materials used will be actual full crossovers, but you will likely recognize materials and concepts from a varied grouping of science fiction sources.

**Warning:**

There will be mentions of Cancer in the first chapter of this story. I will not make light of this horrible condition, or those people who have suffered from it either directly, or through a loved one. My own mother is, thankfully, a survivor of cancer. Part of the background of this story revolves around the fact that, in this alternate world's future, we have discovered a reliable way to cure Cancer.

**Author's Note:**

Yes, this is a Mass Effect fanfiction. This part of the story though is a background on how this alternative universe broke off from the canon Mass Effect timeline. Events that occur in this first 'Book' of my story will have far reaching effects into the future.

* * *

**Magnum Opus**

**Book One: Exodus**

**Chapter 1**

* * *

**Mojave Desert - Sunday, November 2nd, 2025 - Evening**

Nestled within an arid basin in the Mojave Desert, the Lunar Outlook Air Force base enjoyed the benefits of its remote location. Though the remoteness of the facility was not the only factor that went into the planning of this isolated Air Force Base, it did grant the benefit of not receiving many curious visitors wondering why the Air Force had decided to place a base in the middle of a barren desert without any supporting town nearby. One of the main benefits that decided the placement of this facility, other than its remoteness of course, was the general lack of cloudy days. What this meant was that the numerous sky gazing satellite dishes there could get their very important work done with a minimal of interference.

Shortly before the first ground was broken for this new base, the Federal Government had moved to officially place the National Aeronautic Space Administration firmly within the Military Chain of Command. Though NASA was a government organization, it had enjoyed Civilian administration for longer than many people had been alive. This decision was made to fold the organization within the funding envelope of the Defense Administration, allowing them to more easily secure funds for NASA projects due to a rising worry about other nations attaining space superiority.

One of the first show projects they had created with the USAF NASA team had been the Lunar Outlook program, whose stated mission was an in depth study of Earth's closest extra-planetary stellar body. The purpose of this project was to search for probable locations of valuable resources on and within the Moon, as well as to search for suitable sites for Lunar Habitation.

After the first successful launches of NASA's own Space Launch System rockets, named ARES I and ARES V, the United States had once more stepped into the Space Race, quick to catch up to it's old rival, Russia. ARES I was a manned rocket designed to carry crew members and light equipment into space, and was used to ferry crew members to and from the International Space Station. ARES V, on the other hand, was an unmanned cargo rocket built to carry bulk material into outer space.

Once they had space lift capacity once more, NASA immediately launched a probe into lunar orbit.

Called Lunar Ghost I, the probe carried about it what was, at the time, the most sophisticated sensors and scanners available. It contained ultra-high definition cameras set to numerous spectrums ranging from the infrared to the ultraviolet, x-ray telescopes, radar, Ladar, and a new form of radiation sensing camera that was the logical evolution of the Geiger Counter. The wealth of information downloaded had kept scientists busy for well over a year, while engineers worked on figuring out ways to construct viable lunar habitats using the fewest man-lifted materials as possible.

Initial plans called for modular units that would be anchored to the surface of the moon. Solid cored, the habitats would have an inflated outer skin made of a material similar to Kevlar which, when inflated, would have a rigidity similar to aluminum. Those units would then be surrounded by 'sand bags' filled with lunar dust taken from the surface of the Moon itself.

In large enough quantities, this lunar dust, called regolith, would act as a form of radiation shielding, as well as a guard against micrometeorite impacts. During solar flares, there would be the solid inner core, which would contain the water supply for the habitat. This water-filled jacket would protect the inhabitants during larger amounts of radiation bombardment, such as those experienced during solar flares.

Mockups of these shelters had been built and tested within a replica of the Moon's surface within a series of warehouse like buildings on base. These facilities were the main test bed for all of the equipment and technology that they planned to use once they have landed on the Moon. Scientists from around the nation had been brought together for this mission, and the amount of work that they accomplished so far was monumental.

Upon finding a suitable location for a future base upon the constantly lit rim of the Shackleton Crater at the southern pole of the Moon, an initial 'care package' in the form of a remote controlled moon crawler had been sent to start initial work. This crawler was even now busy filling up pre-formed bags with regolith and setting them aside to be assembled around the first habitation once it was landed.

One of the numerous problems with setting up a human presence on the moon is the general lack of rare earths, as well as a lack of life giving resources like food, water, and especially air to be had from the Moon itself. One of the features of the crawler currently collecting regolith would be the extraction of water vapor from the same material it was currently collecting. When super-heated to over six hundred degrees Celsius, the regolith would let out water vapor which could then be separated into Hydrogen and Oxygen, giving a second source of oxygen for the inhabitants.

Earlier that week a new probe had been launched, called Lunar Ghost Two, which was equipped with some new toys worked up by the scientists at NASA working with the folks over at DARPA. One of the most revolutionary pieces of new equipment was a new sensor called an EM-Dar, an expensive piece of electronics mounted within the new probe. This device utilizes focused pulses of electromagnetic energy at different frequencies to bounce a signal off of solid objects. Considered too brute force to use on planetary-based targets, it was perfect for use on an object with no biological concerns.

In addition to the new EM-Dar sensor, they had also added a series of ultra-sensitive gravimetric sensors to help map the gravity fields of the stellar body. One of the greatest risks when landing any mission on the Moon was that the gravity on the lunar surface was not constant, causing any landing object to potentially veer wildly off course due to unexpected pulls of gravity.

Information from all these different sensors were to be fed into a large supercomputer buried beneath the Command Center of the Lunar Outlook base. When combined together, this would allow the scientists to correlate where any bodies of rare earths or other useful materials might be located that would be of potential use, and help fund future expansion of lunar projects.

Once this information was entered into the computer, and its data was first checked by a small team of onsite scientific specialists all with fancy titles ending with 'ology', the data was then sent along via satellite uplink to other scientists and researchers around the globe for further study. Most of the time the scientists set certain search parameters that would send them reports to help disseminate this information into an easier to study series of reports. Generally, there was not much time spent by the scientists watching the life feeds coming from the probe itself.

This practice of waiting for automated reports had been in place since about a week and a half into the flight of Lunar Ghost I, and had not changed much upon the launch of the second Ghost. If anything time critical happened, the scientists could be called from their comfortable, climate controlled offices and labs to the Command Center.

What this meant, to First Lieutenant Simon Riggs of the United States Air Force, was that he currently had one of the most boring jobs on base.

* * *

Lunar Outlook AFB was a somewhat sprawling facility painted a slightly orange tan beige color that blended well with the surrounding terrain. Located in the center of the base was a large Recreational building, nestled next to the Mess Hall, where easy access could be had to the two from nearly any point on the base.

Just to the south of the Recreation and Mess was a large open patch of desert floor overtaken by man-made construction. A forest of satellite dishes aimed themselves up at the sky, each appointed to its own little piece of the heavens. At the feet of these giants was several aches of solar panel arrays making ample use of the freely given energy of the sun, feeding their harvest to a series of large underground batteries to stave off their energy needs during the cool desert nights.

The main facilities of the base were arranged around the central hub of the Recreation and Mess halls like a wheel, wide avenues spreading out to a road that ran along the outer facilities. Between the hub and the outer rim were numerous essential facilities like the boiler room, the laundry facilities, the commissary, and medical facilities.

At the far eastern end of the Base were the numerous offices and laboratories for the scientists on base, blending into a series of large warehouse like buildings that contained both the lunar simulation that they tested their new equipment at, as well as machine shops and manufacturing facilities they could use to produce their inventions right on base.

Heading counter-clockwise brought one next to the side of an airfield landing strip that was the main source of materials, goods, and outside transportation for the Base. Any time they needed to send a scientist to a seminar, re-assign an airman, or just get a shipment of bullets beans or bandages, it would arrive or depart from that landing strip.

On the North Eastern side of the base was the warehouse district, located conveniently close to the landing strip to help facilitate the loading and unloading of material goods. Row upon row of tall-roofed storage buildings sat in a grid, holding all those things that kept life sustainable on base.

To the side of the warehouse area was located the Residential building, sitting on the north western side of the base. This is where the military base personnel lived, while the scientists had their own separate houses built between their laboratories and the central hub of the base.

The far western side of the base contained two facilities, one of which was the large hexagonal Administration facility that held the clerical staff and administrators during working hours. This is also where the base commander had his office. However, it is the building just to the south of the administration building, at the far western end of the hub, that our focus is drawn.

* * *

The Command Center is a squat, solid looking building that is easily dwarfed by the nearby Administration building. Only a story and a half tall and built from solid concrete painted to match the desert floor it was built upon, the windowless building could almost be mistaken for a rather regularly shaped, unattractive boulder. One of the few things the Command Center had going for it was that it was, like the rest of the facilities on base, fully climate controlled.

Inside of the facility was an entirely different view, as a majority of the building was filled with a large control room built half-buried beneath the ground, making it much taller than the building itself appeared. Dominating the far wall was a giant series of LCD monitors linked together to form one massive, floor to ceiling display screen.

To the far right of this giant display was a stretched map of the Moon showing the traced trajectory of both the Lunar Ghost II, and it's older sibling the Lunar Ghost I, which was still operational but not sending them anything noteworthy by this point. Opposite the stretched map was a real time display of the information currently being streamed down by Lunar Ghost Two. Luckily for anyone who bothered to look at this real time display, the different feeds were split up into a grid, combined with several different line graphs showing data over time comparisons.

With this being a Sunday evening, the room was all but empty, and the sensitivity designed for the high resolution scans from Lunar Ghost II meant that it took an incredibly long amount of time for anything resembling a complete picture to be formed. Automated programs checked the orbital path of both probes, with alerts set in the instance there happened to be any trouble with either probe. There were several technicians on call in case any problems should arise, but policy dictated that at least one airman be present in the Command Center at all times.

Which brings us to the single occupant of this vast display of information and technology.

Sprawled out on in a comfortable high backed office chair in front of the only active desktop station was a sandy-haired young man in his mid-twenties, a single boot propped up on the edge of the desk, and his hands folded over his stomach. Clad in a set of desert camouflage BDUs, he would have blended in well with the desert outside the Command Center, but he stood out as a splash of beige light in the otherwise dark tinted room. A series of halogen lamps mounted high in the ceiling above cast pools of bright light upon the work stations, while leaving the main display in relative darkness.

First Lieutenant Simon Riggs was not happy with the turn of events his military career had taken recently. He had originally signed up to be a fighter pilot, and was assured by his recruiter that he would achieve this goal once his recruiter saw his test results. He had even gotten into flight school, and had been the head of his class at Sheppard AFB, when General Greenwode had come along during an inspection of the training facilities and had Riggs fast-tracked into a job as a sensors technician.

Unhappy about this turn of events, but pleased that at least he was still in the Air Force, Riggs had gone on to do his best as a sensors technician. His hope had been that, if he got good enough at that job, he might be able to transfer to Cheyenne Mountain and work with NORAD watching the skies above their nation. Unfortunately, he had done such a good job at becoming a sensors technician that he had instead been assigned to work at a facility with the newest, top of the line sensors the Air Force had at their disposal.

One of the few rays of light with this whole assignment was that the head scientist in charge of this program, Doctor Hamlin, had decided that Riggs would be a perfect assistant in testing the new equipment that the astronauts would be using on their future trip to the moon. This gave him a chance to test out the controls of a Lunar Lander flight simulator that utilized data fed through the super computer buried deep beneath his feet, as well as walk around in several prototype models of space suits.

Of course, that bit of excitement did not entirely outweigh the fact that not only was he not an astronaut, and he would never get the chance to use these things in real life, but he wasn't really doing anything to help defend his nation, either. Watching an empty room as a computer mapped the surface of the Moon on a Sunday evening while the other people on the base played pool, watched movies, or cheated each other at poker, was not his idea of a good time.

On the other hand, it did beat gate duty.

With a deep sigh, 1st Lt Riggs allowed his raised boot to drop back to the concrete floor with a loud slap that echoed throughout the empty room. Sitting up, he rubbed the heels of his palms over his eyes, trying to drive away the ache that was developing there, before giving it up as a lost cause. After sitting still for so long in the room waiting for nothing to happen, he was aching in places he didn't even know he had.

Deciding that he needed to get his blood flowing, he stood up from the chair and started doing stretches. Arms raised above his head with fingers intertwined, the sandy haired man reached for the ceiling, then slowly tilted his torso from side to side. completing a few more stretches to limber out, he then switched to jumping jacks like he did back in PT in boot. A few moments later and his heart rate was up enough to get the blood flowing, helping wake him up from his stupor.

Reaching over to the desk, the First Lieutenant picked up his discarded coffee cup. Sniffing at the cup in an unconscious reaction, he eyed the last bit of dark liquid that sat at the bottom. Deciding that it did not look, or smell, like poison, he quickly drained what little remained of its contents into his dry mouth.

Immediately regretting doing so, he made a face as what seemed to him to be half a pot's worth of coffee grounds lined his mouth, the bitter grit underlining how irritated he was that evening. Still making odd faces as he tried to dispel both the taste and texture in his mouth, preferably without having to use his tongue or saliva to clear it away, Riggs carried his now empty cup towards the back of the room.

Opposite the main display, the back wall of was laid out with a long counter topped with everything needed to keep a Command Center running. In other words, numerous restaurant style coffee makers with glass pots sitting atop hot plates, several water and ice dispensers, a few sinks, and racks filled with drinking cups and coffee mugs.

Heading for the nearest sink, Riggs rinsed out the remaining grounds with cold water from the tap, filling and emptying the cup several times before bringing it, half full, to his mouth. A few switches and a gargle later, and he had cleared the remains of his previous cup of coffee from his mouth, and was feeling much better about himself.

Maybe he would grab a fresh cup of hot coffee, hopefully with fewer grounds this time.

Blinking his moss green eyes in confusion, Riggs stopped where he was standing, his hand frozen in midair, as something caught the edge of his attention. An odd warbling sound was coming from his computer station, causing him to pause in indecision as he decided wither to pout himself another cup of coffee first, or go check out what was going on with the system. More than likely it wasn't anything important, but his sense of duty won out over his need for caffeine.

Leaving both cup and pot on the back counter, he walked back to his station. While making his way back to his computer, he glanced at the wall display and frowned to himself, coming to a stop as he tried to understand what he was looking at. The college classes, and military officer training that brought him his current specialization, allowed him to take in the data scrolling across the immense set of screens. Unfortunately, that didn't mean that what he was currently seeing made any real sane sort of sense.

Upon the display for the EM-Dar was showing a mass buried beneath the regolith of the Amundsen Crater near the south pole of the moon. With the slow speed in which the satellite orbited the Moon for its high resolution scans, the picture was long in forming. This was one of the many reasons that Riggs was the only person in the command center, as watching the real time display was often as fun as watching paint dry, when one cam come back later to see the full painting.

Mass concentrations like this were fairly rare on the lunar surface, due to a lack of seepage and geological activity. Minerals tended to be sparsely distributed, and didn't tend to group together in such a manner as he was seeing. Secondly, the shape of the deposit seemed a bit too regularly formed to his trained eye to be formed by the forces of nature. Third, a few of the other sensors were showing a lot more activity than he had noticed before now.

Oddly enough, the sensor showing the highest level of activity was the gravimetric censor, which was showing fluctuations in gravity that peaked and fell in line with the scan pattern of the EM-Dar as is was scanning a particular area of the mass.

Decision made, 1st Lt Riggs walked the rest of the way to his station and picked up the phone there, not even bothering to sit back down. Punching in the extension the base CO had given him in case anything came up, he waited as the line rang, the warble still coming from the computer filling his other ear. With a click the other end of the line was picked up.

"Report," his commanding officer ordered.

"We have an anomaly on Lunar Ghost Two, Colonel," Riggs replied.

"This had better be one hell of an anomaly for you to interrupt my Sunday evening, Lieutenant," the Colonel told him.

"Sir, if what the sensors are telling me is true, then we have something really unusual here," Riggs assured his CO.

A sigh could be heard on the other end of the line.

"Right, then," the other man agreed. "Give a call over to Doctor Hamlin and tell him he is needed in Command... And Riggs?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Put a fresh pot of coffee on... make that two."

* * *

**Washington DC - Sunday, November 2nd, 2025 - Late Evening**

Lazlo Steele wondered again why he had decided to run for the office of President of the United States of America. Having retired at the age of fifty-five from the Air Force with the rank of a Brigadier General, he could have lived comfortably off of his retirement fund. But anyone that knew Lazlo knew that he was not a man that took to idleness well.

He had been thinking about what to do with his life now that he was out of the military when his old commanding officer had jokingly said that if Lazlo really wanted to make a difference, he would have to do so from the top.

That had been over seven years ago when he had first decided to run for office, back in the summer of 2020.

Not wanting to be embroiled in 'party politics' between the ever present Democratic and Republican parties, the retired Brigadier General had decided to run as an Independent more as a statement than in thinking that it would help his chances for election. The last president elected from a party other than Democrat or Republican had been John Tyler, who was elected back in 1841. Indeed, the last president that was not a Democrat or Republican had been Millard Fillmore, who was elected in 1850 just three terms after that.

As luck would have it, the Democratic and Republican nominees were both 'old money', and had been very verbal about their plans to curb military funding and increase tax breaks when they came into office. Wizened somewhat due to years of recession, the general populace understood that as meaning that they planned to take money away from the people protecting their nation, give tax breaks that benefited only the rich like themselves, and continue to line their pockets.

While this might have been enough cause for voters to look to other candidates, like Lazlo himself, the sheer amount of funding that the primary candidates had backing their campaigns gave them an overwhelming advantage. With over a hundred, in fact around one hundred and thirty years, of bi-partisan voting backing them, the odds seemed long that Lazlo would even reach the Debates.

However, mere days before the final Debates were about to begin, Lazlo had barely managed to get enough popularity to enter. That was when his fortunes changed, as a new flare up in tensions in the Middle East broke out as several groups fought over the control of the dwindling oil fields. One nation decided that due to the fact that the fields in question were mainly located beneath the borders of their own country, that they had rights to this resource, while another country disagreed and stated that since the field was also within their own borders, then they were well within their rights to place oil wells on their own sovereign territory.

Shortly after that fateful Presidential Debate, Independent candidate Lazlo Steele had taken the polls by storm. He had come off with the aura of a man that was not only in control, but also knew what was needed to support a nation during times of conflict. One major point in his favor was that he was most assuredly less concerned than the primary candidates about how much money companies might be losing, and more concerned about making sure that the people had the resources and safety needed to live their lives.

Standing at six foot three, and weighing over two hundred and fifty pounds of bone and muscle, the retired Brigadier General appeared to loom over his Debate opponents. His pale gray eyes seemed to gaze into the souls of those that watched the debates, shadowed beneath his thick black eyebrows. When he answered the questions posed to the candidates, his impassioned replied were spoken with a staccato pace of a man familiar with giving orders, easily cutting through the simpering tones of the two rich men that happened to share the stage with him.

Shortly after the Presidential Debate, candidate Lazlo Steele had taken the polls by storm, jumping from a 6% approval rate to a 74%. While the bipartisan parties had scrambled to regain control of a suddenly derailed election, Lazlo was suddenly receiving funding from grass-roots organizations and online donation groups, giving him the ability to turn down several corporate sponsors who tried to approach him in the weeks following, thus allowing him to stay his own man.

After what seemed to be one of the fastest political climbs in history, Lazlo Steele had been sworn in as the 46th President of the United States of America on January 20th, 2021.

As President, one of the first bills that Lazlo had signed had been the approval for final testing to be completed on a new form of cancer cure by a company called Ziodex Industries. Though the company had started out by developing synthetic plasma, and later succeeding in creating cloned blood, their recent research into curing cancer had shown great promise as well.

The bill had been opposed due to grief originating from the major pharmaceutical companies that profited on the industry they had build based upon treatment of cancer instead of curing the deadly and horrific malady. In his mind, he also understood that numerous corporations were also against the bill due to the vast amounts of funding that they also received on their parts to discover new ways to treat cancer patients. Unbelievable amounts of money were funneled into the medical community each year as more and more people suffering from cancer continued to flow in due to the increased pollutants in their environment.

Amazingly, this new treatment was a form of actual gene therapy that involved taking a healthy genetic sample from the patient, altering it in a manner that was above Lazlo's own head, and reinserting it into the patient in the form of a retrovirus. Although the exact process was a mystery to the President, the actual effects were easily enough understood.

By altering the telomeres and the IGF-1 growth gene, they were able to help prevent the genetic decay that was part of the cell division process. As part of this process, they had managed to create a condition that caused any genetics that deviated from the normal without certain chemical markers would have the telomeres quickly dissipate, causing any rampant unhealthy cells to quickly die off and be reabsorbed by the body's own immune system.

With the final testing complete, an actual cure to cancer had been found that was able to remove cancerous cells from those suffering from this horrible malady, and help prevent any future reoccurrence. An unbelievable number of lives had been returned to the world, and many families that had been torn apart by loss had been mended, the worry over remission slowly fading away as time went on, and more and more success cases were achieved.

Long term effects of this cure were just beginning to be truly felt, a year into his second term in office, and three years since the cure had first been successfully released. Despite production bottlenecks in creating individual cures for each patient, the population of the world was now starting to grow at an ever increasing rate.

As the months and years went by, they noticed more and more things that this cure now helped remedy. Although it was not a cure all, many degenerative conditions could be brought back into remission, or even outright halted in some limited cases, that medical science before had been unable to touch.

Beyond that, though, there was one final effect of this cure.

While at its most basic the cure was designed to prevent improper copies of cells, the lasting effect was that with the cells being copied with a higher matching quality to their parent cells. Degeneration of the DNA chains was slowed down to a crawl in those individuals that were given the cure, and even now just a few years later it was noticed that these people were aging at a much slower rate.

As soon as reports of this effect became known to the general population, the name Prolong had been pinned to what was originally called 'Degenerative Prevention Retrovirus Engineering'. Despite how this was altering the face of humanity, the initial purpose of this 'Prolong' hit closer to home than Lazlo himself had expected.

Shortly into his second year in term his wife of thirty years, Shannon, had been diagnosed with uterine cancer. When he had asked her why she hadn't told him about the symptoms she had been suffering, she had told him that it had just been some aching in her hips. Shannon had assumed it was just old age and the stress of supporting him as he worked hard to steer their Nation, and hadn't thought anything about it.

When they had talked to her doctor, they had been told that she had been at a higher risk of this form of cancer, as she had never had any children. This had been a hard blow to the both of them, as they had always planned on having a child of their own, but they had never felt that it was the right time. They had been weighing their options, when the reports had been released that the cure he had approved testing on had finally produced reliable results.

Amazingly, the head doctor that helped develop the cure had come to their hospital personally to oversee Shannon's treatment. Doctor Amelia Farkas, was the co-founder of Ziodex Industries, and was an exotically beautiful woman native to Hungary. Although, it did bug him that he could never remember if the dark haired woman's eyes were blue or brown.

With Doctor Farkas' personal touch, the procedure had gone off without a hitch. When he had asked the Doctor if there was any way that he could help her in return, her reply was that all the reward she needed was knowing that the many peoples of the world would continue to live on.

New life had been breathed into them when Shannon had been successfully treated with the new cure, and all tests had shown that there were zero cases of cancerous cells within her body a few short months later. Although they had not had any children with each other in the years after, they had both been grateful that not only had she been cured from cancer, but that they would never have to worry about her suffering from cancer ever again.

In fact, there were several small health problems she had been living with before all of this occurred that had seemed to slowly disappear in the months following her treatment. During her most recent physical, her doctor had told her that she was healthier than she had been ten years previously. Elasticity was returning to her tissues, smoothing wrinkles, and easing the aches that had been developing in her joints.

For Lazlo, this was nothing less than a blessing. He had always been a very healthy man, the only signs of him aging the crows feet at the corners of his eyes and the silver in the temples of his crew cut hair. He was expected to live a very long life, as both his parents, as well as his grandparents, had lived to be slightly over a hundred before passing on. One of the greatest fears he had was to outlive his wife, and now that fear was gone.

But not without a price.

A population boom was occurring all around the developed world, not just because of new births, but also because of fewer deaths. With this new cure not only preventing deaths from Cancer, but also extending life past its original limits, fewer and fewer people were dying every year since Prolong was released. People were living longer, and healthier, than they ever had before in the recorded history of mankind.

Unfortunately, this was all happening on the backdrop of a world now finding itself in a fierce battle over dwindling natural resources. Most people did not realize how much even the relatively simple seeming task of getting food to their table depended upon fossil fuels every step of the way. From the machines that tended the fields, to the fertilizers and pesticides that helped them grow, and to the very process by which raw material was combined into the pre-packaged items they purchased at a supermarket.

With ever dwindling resources, combined with an ever faster increase in population, there was little to no chance that supply would be able to keep up with demand. The recent flares of war in oil producing countries was but a symptom of this problem, as competing groups tried to ensure that they would be the haves, as opposed to the have nots.

Unless a miracle happened soon, Lazlo could only foresee a future filled with war and strife. His only hope was that, somehow, all of those well paid scientists and engineers could come up with some way to save humanity from itself.

* * *

**Mojave Desert - Sunday, November 2nd, 2025 - Evening**

Closing his satellite phone with a snap, Tanner shoved it back into his pants pocket and stood up from the uncomfortable metal chair he had been sitting on for the last hour and a half.

"Well, it looks like you all get to keep some of your wages tonight," Colonel James Tanner said with a wide grin, dark brown eyes looking at the other officers sitting around the card table.

Mixed looks of joy and regret could be seen on the other men that he had been playing against as he got ready to leave, picking up the pile of money he had won off of them. Some of them had been planning to try to win their money back from the Colonel, while others expected their luck to be much better now that the older man was leaving.

Tanner's luck at cards was downright unnatural at times, and it had gotten him into trouble more times than he could count during his youth. In fact, there was still a standing order forbidding him from going into any of the casinos up north in Las Vegas ever since the last time he had taken leave there. He knew that the other officers would have suspected him of sneaking cards up his sleeves if he hadn't made a show of taking off his jacket every time he sat down, hanging it on the back of his chair.

Chuckling, Tanner shook his head at the varied reactions of the other men as he picked up his jacket from the back of the chair. With a sweep of blue cloth, and a quick buttoning of three bright silver buttons, he had morphed from the laid back ex fighter pilot back to the professional Air Force officer and Base Commander most people knew him as.

Pulling his garrison cap from beneath the shoulder strap of his jacket, Tanner placed the pile of dollar bills in the crown, then placed the entire assembly neatly upon his head. Florescent light shined off the silver eagle tank insignia on the front left of the cap, bringing attention to the blue and silver braided piping.

Bidding farewell to his victims... er, poker partners, Tanner turned on his heel and made his way through the recreation building towards the main entrance. As they were indoors, and it wasn't an indoor ceremony, no salutes were given as he made his way through the crowded facility. With the Recreation Facility being the only place available to kick back and relax, the building was naturally filled to the brim with both Air Force personnel, as well as those scientists and engineers employed on base for the project at this time of evening on a Sunday.

Leaving the 'poker room', the base commander made his way past the movie hall, a burst of sound and music escaping as someone entered the small theater with snacks in hand. It was amazing how many amenities they had crowded into the large building, but it was one of the compensations to ease the burden of being stationed at what was, for all intents and purposes, an isolated desert outpost in the South Eastern United States.

Passing between the pool hall and the TV lounge, which was showing a news report on fighting breaking out somewhere in Africa, Tanner's eye was drawn to another figure making their way towards the entrance. Immediately recognizing them as being his equivalent to the scientists and engineers on base, the Colonel raised his voice loud enough to be heard as he called out the other man's name.

"Doctor Hamlin!"

Five years ago, the same year their current President had been elected for his first term, Doctor Hamlin had been diagnosed with cancer. A certifiable genius, the elderly doctor could have written his own paycheck in just about any lab in the world, but instead he had chosen this project to be his final flash of brilliance before fading quietly into the night. With the diagnosis that, even with the best therapy money could buy, he could only live a few more years at most, he had been resigned to the idea of dying before seeing this project to the end.

Instead, life had thrown him a curve ball when a miracle cure had come out less than two years later. With this new lease on life, the scientist had focused his energy on the project with an intensity few could match. Within the next few years he had helped design, and launch, two sophisticated probes to the moon while, at the same time, developing the equipment and technology that would help sustain life where the only resources available are those you bring with you.

Ice blue eyes sparkled as the Doctor stopped to wait for the base commander to catch up with him. The man had a wide grin on his salt and pepper bearded face, revealing brilliant white teeth that had just a little too much of a gap between them to be photogenic, looking almost like the keys on a piano.

It was hard to believe how much the man had changed in the five years since the Colonel had met him. Gone was the sagging skin, the dark bags beneath the eyes, the pallid complexion, and the pure silver white hair. Instead, Hamlin's skin was as smooth and healthy ad a man in his forties, not his sixties, with a faint but healthy tan. Not only that, but the black was beginning to grow back into his hair again, with only a peppering of in his beard, but leaving behind only a few stray silver hairs dotting his head.

The Doctor kept his hair short and parted to the side, with a neatly trimmed beard, to keep them out of the way when doing work in the labs. When Tanner had asked him why he didn't just shave his beard, the man had jokingly replied that it was because he was not allowed to have a straight razor on base. In the Doctor's opinion, the only true way to shave was with a piece of mirror bright sharpened steel to one's throat, as nothing else can make a man feel more alive. He figured that if he couldn't shave the proper way, he wouldn't bother to shave at all.

Tanner checked, there actually was a rule against straight razors on base.

With all of the health benefits he had seen the elderly man enjoy from the Prolong treatment, Tanner was almost jealous of a man half again his age. Quite unlike the pained shuffle from before, the man moved with a smooth, energetic gait that belied his chronological age. With all of the effects that Prolong brought, it wouldn't surprise the Colonel if they started treating people in the armed forces as a matter of course in the near future.

"I take it you got the call," Colonel Tanner asked the man as he reached him.

"Sharp lad, that Riggs," Hamlin commented, joining the other man as they walked the final stretch towards the exit. "Of course, that is the main reason that I wanted him to be there keeping an eye on things while everyone else was here goofing off. It was either that, or Stevenson, but she had the morning shift today, and that would hardly be fair."

"It wouldn't be the first time that either of them has needed to pull two consecutive twelve hour shifts," Tanner told his companion. "Besides, don't for one moment think I haven't noticed how much time you have him spend over there in your labs and testing facilities trying to break everything you make there. Between his duties in the Command Center and your little tests, it's amazing the Lieutenant has time to sleep."

"Sometimes I think he doesn't," Hamlin confessed with a grin. "On that note, you do know that most of the work we have had him doing in the last few months has been less to do with stress testing the equipment, and more to do with making the young man intimately familiar with all of it. We haven't told him, but Riggs is technically second chair for the role of Lunar Lander pilot, if anything happens to Captain Howell."

Stepping outside the Recreational building, the Colonel had to place a hand on his head to keep his garrison cap firmly in place. The day's earlier heat was being replaced by a strong breeze coming down from the nearby mountains, bringing with it the promise of a chilly November night. Off at the eastern horizon, the sun was just beginning to set, taking with it the light and warmth of day.

"I figured that might be what was going on," Tanner said, spotting a nearby electric cart and heading towards it. "The poor bastard had been so set on becoming a pilot when he entered the Air Force when he had been pulled from class to become a damned sensors technician, of all things. Be nice to see if he's able to fly something some day."

"Weren't you yourself a pilot? the Doctor asked him.

"I flew," Tanner agreed. "Mainly the A-10 Thunderbird II, you probably know it as the Warthog. It's amazing that those things are still being flown, if you think about how many changes have been made to the birds they have us flying now. There is just something about building a plane around a gun, instead of a gun into a plane."

"Oh, indeed," the Doctor agreed as they reached the electric cart.

With all of the solar power available, and the expense of shipping gas fuel to the isolated base, it had been decided to supply the base with a large number of four seater electric carts. They would honestly be called golf carts, if there happened to be a golf course anywhere within a hundred miles of the base. With this being a busy Sunday afternoon at the Recreational building, a majority of the carts were already parked outside the building, causing any latecomers to have to come on foot.

The cart sat on four large knobby tires with independent suspension set into deep wheel wells, with a roof propped up with metal framing at the corners to shade the passengers. Two bucket seats were on either side at the front of the cart, the steering wheel and pedals in the traditional left-hand driver's seat, and a bench seat spanned the rear of the cart allowing another two to three passengers along for the ride.

Sitting down in the passenger side seat the Colonel bucked himself in one handed, the other hand keeping his hat securely on his head, and his hard earned poker winnings from blowing away in the breeze. With Hamlin driving, the two men rode towards the setting sun, the moon currently a pale circle not yet quite full in the slowly darkening sky.

Knobby tires found an easy grip on the wide paved roads that ran out towards the edge of the base as they navigated their way towards the Command Center. After a few moments the headlights were turned on to create a river light before them leading the way amongst pools of shadows cast by the surrounding buildings and rolling terrain.

"Actually, I hear they are doing final testing on a new Fairchild Republic plane tentatively called the A-15 Thunderbird III," the Doctor advised his companion after a few moments of silence. "With the A-10 being phased out and no more being built, they are trying to see if the Air Force will accept a contract for a replacement ground support craft."

"Really?" Tanner replied, obviously interested. "Why haven't I heard anything about this?"

"My 'reliable source' might happen to work in the X-Planes testing facility," Hamlin confessed. "In other words you didn't hear this from me."

Tanner chuckled in reply.

"From what my friend told me, they have continued the tradition of keeping the plane as simple as possible," the elderly Doctor continued. "One of the major upgrades has been using composite materials and carbon fiber in the construction, removing approximately thirty percent of the mass that the original Thunderbird II possessed. This, of course, allows for a much better operational range and more agile footing in the air as there is less mass to be flinging around."

"I assume that they have upgraded the electronics and controls," the ex-pilot hummed to himself. "Anything else you might have heard rumors about?"

"Well, there is the fact that they have designed it with vertical takeoff and landing capability, as well as vectored thrust," the Doctor mentioned in an offhand manner. "Not that I can imagine why you would want to make one of those flying tanks move any slower, mind you."

Laughter floated through the air as the two men made their way towards the Command Center.

* * *

An hour and a half since Riggs had made his first call the main theater of the Command Center had gone from an empty room to a den of noise and activity. Numerous scientists and technicians why had been on call across the base had been called in upon getting the report on the unusual sensors activity.

Both Colonel Tanner and Doctor Hamlin had arrived shortly after his first call, and the Doctor was still going over the initial data from their first pass. The other technicians were working on refining their different sensor packages to get a better read during their next pass, which would be in the next few minutes. But there was one technician amongst all those now crowded into the now uncomfortably warm room that was currently the star of the main attraction.

Although she was a lower rank than he, Second Lieutenant Elizabeth Stevenson was their resident specialist on the EM-Dar sensor, possessing an innate talent on how to finesse the settings to get exactly the information that she wanted. Since Riggs had noticed that the gravity fluctuations had been spaced in time with the EM-Dar's signal, the two of them were working together to refine the settings to get a clearer reading from the anomaly.

Standing at only four feet, ten and a half inches, Stevenson had just barely met the minimum height requirements to enter the Air Force. With a mixed British Irish heritage, the Second Lieutenant had pale skin with a scattering of freckles crossing the bridge of her nose, offsetting a pair of bright, grass green eyes. Her dark red hair was pulled back into a twist, a few stray strands tickling the sides of her cheeks, causing her to brush them behind her ear absently as she stared at her computer monitor.

Casting a long glance at his friend, Riggs turned back to the monitor and watched the numbers march across the screen. He was leaning over her left shoulder, one hand propped on the back of her chair, the other holding some of his weight against the edge of the desk.

Originally educated at the University of Oxford, the young woman had a brilliant head on her shoulders, which had only been further refined during her time in the officer's school, and eventually the field, working with sensors technology. Riggs was not embarrassed to admit that, when it came to finessing the EM-Dar, she stood head and shoulders above him in skill. That was saying something, as she was over a head shorter than him in the first place.

"How much data were we actually able to get from that first pass?" Riggs asked of the Second Lieutenant, taking a moment to glance at his own computer monitor in the next station over.

"Not much, unfortunately," Stevenson admitted, bright green eyes squinting. "On the other hand, what we have gotten so far from that first pass tells me enough to know where to start looking. Just based upon how the readings fluctuated during the peaks and valleys of the sine wave, I should be able to narrow down a more exacting band of frequencies of electro-magnetic energy to get us a better read on whatever it is that is causing the gravitational flux.

"At the same time, Lieutenant Patel is working on refining the ground penetrating radar system. Hopefully he can get us a better picture of what is there, while I find out what it's doing."

"You know, you would think that the old GRAIL probes launched back in oh-twelve would have noticed something like this," Riggs said, pointing at the graph showing the gravity fluctuations from earlier that night. "Isn't this the kind of thing they were supposed to be looking for?"

"Sure, Simon," Stevenson said, half shrugging without taking her hands from her keyboard. "But we have one thing on the Ghost that the GRAIL did not. Whatever is down there in that crater is reacting specifically to the energy being sent out by the EM-Dar. Without that causing it to act up, we might have never noticed it in the first place."

"Young Elizabeth here makes a good point," a voice spoke up from behind the two, causing them to look over their shoulders.

Doctor Hamlin stood behind them, coffee cup in hand, his ice blue eyes locked on the main wall display as a clock counted down the time until their next pass over the anomaly. With an orbit of a little over one hundred minutes, they had not yet gotten a second glance at the Amundsen Crater, and tensions were mounting in the room as the time whittled down.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there, Doctor," Stevenson apologized, an embarrassed grin on her face.

"Think nothing of it," Hamlin replied, taking a quick sip from his coffee. "The moment of truth approaches us, though. Have you finished calibrating the EM-Dar for our next pass?"

"Yes, Doctor," Stevenson said, finishing the last commands and having them beamed up to the satellite. "Based upon the information we received from the first pass, I have refined the wavelength used by the EM-Dar to get the most powerful reaction we can hope for. At least, this will be the best we can get, until we manage to get more precise information, of course."

"Of course," the elderly Doctor agreed, flashing his brilliantly white teeth.

"The other technicians should be about done calibrating the other sensors," Riggs reported to the lead Scientist on base. "Although most of what we should be able to get on this pass will likely come from the EM-Dar, the Gravimetrics, and the ground penetrating Radar."

"You don't expect anything to come from the other sensors?" the Doctor queried.

"Not in particular, no," Riggs shook his head. "From what we could see from the first pass, the Anomaly is buried beneath a later of Regolith, which will block off most line-of-sight readings. The multi-spectrum cameras already mapped a good image of the surface, and the Ladar already has a 3d representation of the area accurate down to three meters."

"If any other sensor might get some data, it will likely be the radiation cameras," Stevenson surmised. "But that's only if whatever is causing this effect is sending out exotic particles from radioactive decay, which was not spotted on the first pass."

"I see," Hamlin nodded, eyes turning back to the dwindling numbers on the count-down clock. "Well, either way, we should know within the next few minutes. Ah, Colonel Tanner, nice of you to join us!"

Both Riggs and Stevenson looked over at their commanding officer as he approached, a coffee cup in his own hand matching the Doctor's. Colonel Tanner nodded to the two commissioned officers as he reached them, receiving nods in return. Since the Command Center was designated as a no hat no salute zone, the Colonel's garrison cap was tucked into his belt, and neither airmen were to salute him as he approached.

Looking up at the massive wall display, Tanner watched as the small icon of the LG2 probe traced it's path across the lunar map, the clock counting down until it reached its destination. It was almost irksome that they had only just now discovered the anomaly, when it was located so close to the area of the southern pole that had been placed under the most intense scrutiny that Mankind had ever placed on an extra-planetary piece of terrain.

What made it most ironic, was that the Amundsen Crater lay within a decently short distance from the rim of the Shackleton Crater, where they had earlier landed the moon crawler. If they had indeed found something interesting enough to make the scientists sit up and pay attention as much as those on Base had, then they would need to work quickly to secure the anomaly. If his instincts were correct, things were about to get very busy.

"Showtime," Riggs stated, staring intently as the countdown reached the final seconds. "Visual in five... four... three... two... one... now."

The entire Command Center waited with baited breath as the rainbow of scanner information began painting itself on the wall. With all of the refining of the sensors, increasing power and narrowing the gain, they had held off active scans until they reached their target area. Line by line of colored light, and soon a shape began to paint itself before them, the ground penetrating Radar showing the faint outline of a mass beneath the surface of the Moon. As more and more of the object passed beneath the intense gaze of Lunar Ghost Two, a more complete picture began to form before their eyes.

What seemed at first to be one solid object, soon could be seen as part of a fractured whole. Vaguely triangular in design, the front of the object looked like it had been crushed in against one of the two mountain peaks that stood in the center of the Amundsen Crater. A short distance later, and a large piece could be missing from the object, like a bite had been taken out of one side. With a triangular front. A fuzzy halo could be seen around the area of the missing chunk, perhaps debris that had fallen off during impact. The object soon tapered to a more rectangular shape, flaring out again as the scanners reached the edge of the object.

During the pass, the EM-Dar had been getting readings from the object, showing it to be of an unusual metallic consistency. Usually capable of telling the mineral content of ore veins and surface deposits on the Moon, the EM-Dar was unable to classify the exact material the object was made out of, though they could tell that it was not entirely solid.

Eventually, as they reached the rear third of the object, half way from the missing chunk and the far end, the Gravimetric sensors began picking up highly fluctuating gravity waves coming from the object, pulsing in time with the EM-Dar scanner signal, like paired heartbeats. Over in the control section, one of the technicians fought with the probes thrusters to maintain a straight path in orbit as the pulses of gravity fought to pull the expensive piece of government property crashing down to the lunar surface.

For his part, Colonel Tanner could not help but compare the shape to that of the now retired space Shuttle program. Vaguely arrowhead shaped, with sweeping wings formed into the body along the sides, to give control when entering an atmosphere. The hole in the side might be where its power generator blew, perhaps some form of nuclear reactor that destabilized in the crash. Finally, the strange gravity pulses seemed to come from the rear of the craft, almost exactly where one would expect an engine room to be located on a human build craft of similar design.

"Well now," Doctor Hamlin muttered to himself. "Well well well."

"What is it, Doctor?" Tanner asked the man.

"A common theory hold that any successful form of high speed space travel would deal with the manipulation of gravity itself through some medium or mechanism," the Doctor said, eyes glued on the display. "If that is indeed what it looks like, and our sensors are not lying to us, we have found one of those things right here in our own front yard. Whatever it is that is creating this effect, it is still intact enough that our EM-Dar is able to cause it to react, which gives us some clues as to how it might work."

Doctor Hamlin paused for a moment, absentmindedly taking a large drink from the coffee cup in his hands, his mind working in several directions at once.

"We need to get access to this strange craft, if indeed that is what it is, and find out as many of its secrets as we can before anyone else gets wind of this," the Doctor said, thick black eyebrows crashing down over ice blue eyes as he thought about what would happen if it became common knowledge before Science got to it first.

"This could be our Key to the Stars, James," Doctor Hamlin continued, looking over at the Colonel. "I have to make a call."

* * *

**Undisclosed Location - Sunday, November 2nd, 2025 - Shortly before Midnight**

Buried beneath a building that technically did not exist, there was a small room that would look more at home within late Victorian England. Dark woods and rich embroidered cloth upholstery dominated a room lined on three sides with large bookshelves that stretched from floor to vaulted ceiling. Upon the third wall a large fireplace sat, the glow of burning logs fighting against ancient gas-lit lamps, their light revealing the single occupant of the room.

Rafe Holmes was the Director of National Intelligence for the United States of America. His job title was unknown to most people that lived within the borders of the nation that his efforts helped protect, but that did not make his work any less critical to extending the safety and prosperity of the nation and its people.

He was a tall, almost gangly man with a deep widow's peak and straight, dark black hair. His face was dominated by a beak like nose, and a pair of piercing eyes of so dark a brown that they seemed black in all but the brightest of light. He wore an old fashioned gray tweed suit, the jacket unbuttoned to show a matching vest beneath, the gold chain of a pocket watch looping across a button hole.

Everything about the man, from the modest dark red bow-tie at his neck, to the aged decor of his office, spoke of deliberate archaism in both manner and appearance. In this manner, he kept himself grounded to the world in an age of high technology and cyber-espionage.

That did not mean, however, that he did not use these tools to their greatest effect. Being the Director of National Intelligence, Holmes reported directly to the President, the National Security Council, and the Homeland Security Council. As head of the sixteen-member Intelligence Community, and direct overseer of the National Intelligence Program, this man who seemed to have stepped out of a Victorian detective novel was a man who seemed to know everything.

At that moment, he was looking at several reports on a laptop computer that seemed jarringly out of place in its surroundings. Within his brilliant mind, facts and suppositions fit together like pieces to a vast puzzle, small tidbits of information that had before seemed out of place suddenly making a macabre sense. A pattern was emerging in his head that was painting a disturbing picture of the near future.

After their contracts had lapsed due to the national budget reviews, several private military contractors had failed to sign back up for what had been rather lucrative contracts once the budget had been again approved. With the ever increasing tensions in the Middle East, there was no lack of work to be found for those groups, but their presence was now distinctively lacking.

What was even more unusual is that those private military groups who had not signed back up for their contracts had suddenly begun hiring more men in record numbers. A vast majority of these new hires were coming from the forces of African warlords, or from the less developed or less privileged areas of other countries around the globe. And yet, despite the resources available to him, Holmes had not yet discovered where the groups were getting their funding from.

Sitting back in his overstuffed, high back leather chair, the Director considered the facts that he did have access to.

First, of course, was the fact that PMC groups that had once been reliably employed by the United States had refused rather lucrative new contracts. The only logical reason for them to do so would be if they received a better offer, which is unusual because there was no record of one of the other major nations hiring these groups in their stead.

Secondly, it was not the action of one or two PMC groups turning down contracts. When the United States government had taken their offer to the next contractor, they had discovered that they too had also already been hired. This pattern continued until they found but a few contractors who were not yet already 'gainfully employed'.

Third off, any organization that could hire that many contractors, if indeed it was the act a single organization, would have to have disturbingly deep pockets. This fact was supported by the fact that, not only were those contractors hired off, but had also begun to bolster their numbers with new blood.

Fourth, the pattern of the new hires indicated that they were not looking for those individuals educated and easily trained for the tools of modern combat. Instead, they had begun hiring people whose main attributes were strong backs, sharp eyes, and desperation. All these were traits one would expect from someone expecting to go to war and needed cannon fodder and shock troops, not a private military contractor hired out for peacekeeping missions.

Fifth, and finally, the majority of people confirmed hired off by these missing PMC groups were coming from middle Africa, a region that was often war-torn and desperate even when times seemed quiet. In Rafe Holmes' mind, this indicated that not only were their new patrons looking for large numbers of people willing to do anything to escape poverty hunger or disease, but that they planned to use these people in a much larger theater of war than the current wars in the Middle East could possibly account for.

Upon his desk, an ancient looking phone rang, a small hammer swinging back and forth between two brass bells in short, double-beat pulses. Setting his laptop aside on his leather ottoman, the Director rose up from his chair and walked calmly over to the phone, picking up the handset.

"Director Holmes speaking," he answered with a faint Received Pronunciation accent from his time at Cambridge.

"Rafe, my friend, we've found something," came the excited reply from Doctor Emil Hamlin on the other end of the line.

"Indeed," Holmes said languidly. "And I assume this 'something' is important enough for you to call me in the middle of the night?"

"Don't kid yourself," Hamlin snorted. "We both know you live entirely off of hot water, tannin, and free radicals."

"Quite," the Director said, reflexively glancing at a nearby teapot. "So, what did you find?"

"Well... are you sitting down?"

"No."

"Well, you might want to," the Doctor suggested.

Rolling his eyes at his friend's theatrics, and wondering if the older man might be a bit more cultured if he had gone to Cambridge instead of the Michigan Institute of Technology, Holmes sat down in another high backed chair that sat next to the phone for that purpose.

"Fine, I am sitting down now," the Director said.

"Good, good," Hamlin replied. "We seem to have found a crashed alien space ship in the Amundsen Crater, at the base of one of the peaks there. Initial data indicates that it crash landed, the front crumpled from impact, and an explosion blew a gaping hole in the side. We only found it because that new sensor the Board didn't want to approve funding, the EM-Dar, caused a reaction within the shipwreck causing pulsating gravity waves in time with the EM-Dar's signal."

To Rafe Holmes, Director of National Intelligence, the world seemed stop. The crackling flamed in the fireplace froze in place, the constant crackle of burning wood disappearing. This sensation lasted for just a brief moment before time seemed to reassert itself upon reality.

"I see," he replied into the phone. "That is indeed the sort of information that would necessitate a call at this late an hour. In fact, I believe there is someone I will need to wake up tonight, so that I can relay the news onwards."

"Gotcha," Hamlin said, sounding distracted. "Well, let me know if you need anything. I don't think I am going to get much sleep until we get a few more passes with the Ghost, see if we cannot get a better picture of the internal structure.

"This is big, Rafe... Real big."

"I know," Holmes replied, eyes distant. "You will need to tell Colonel Tanner to enact an immediate communications lock down of the facility. Word of this must not reach other parties before we are able to secure the... shipwreck for ourselves."

"He already did," the Doctor assured him. "One major concern at this point is going to be keeping things quiet over at NASA headquarters, though. They are going to be the ones getting us there, after all. It's a good thing we finally got the Habitats tested and built, we're going to need them a bit sooner than we thought."

"Ah, Emil," Holmes sighed. "Still thinking you can tell me how to do my own job. Major General Lee is going to be the second call I make after you let me go, believe me. You keep your eye on the prize."

"I will," the Doctor replied.

The line disconnected with a muted click, and the Director of National Intelligence set the handset gently back on its cradle. Reaching over, he poured himself a cup of tea from a silver teapot, the scent of Yorkshire Gold filling the air. Taking a sip of the strong black tea, Holmes contemplated what he had just been told.

If they had indeed discovered a crashed alien space ship on the surface of the moon, then the technology that they could reverse engineer from the craft might jump-start humanity's development. Even if all of the technology was destroyed in the crash, the fact that the EM-Dar was creating a gravity distorting effect meant that they would be able to recover materials from the artifact that their scientists could work with.

As he well knew, even just finding out the chemical composition of an alloy could tell you an unbelievable amount of information on its smelting and forging process, as well as the environment that the source materials originated from.

Secrecy would, of course, be the first and primary priority in this situation. Of a corporation discovered that there was a wealth of extra-terrestrial materials to be had but a rocket trip away, then there would be no stopping them from bending their vast funding to securing it for themselves. A disturbing thought, considering that the very nature of Corporate mandate an law made those large, multinational entities the very definition of sociopathic behavior.

Draining the rest of the tea from his cup, Holmes prepared himself for a very important call.

* * *

**White House - Monday, November 3rd, 2025 - Just After Midnight**

Broken from a troubled sleep, Lazlo Steele, 46th President of the United States of America, became dimly aware of his surroundings once more.

The faint scent of vanilla filled his nose as chestnut brown hair tickled his face, telling him that his face was buried in the pillows right behind Sharron's head. Stirring slightly, he noticed that his right arm was currently trapped beneath her, while his left hand was currently resting across her warm body just beneath her ribs.

Moments later, he realized that his right arm was numb, but that likely wasn't what had woken him. Well, at least, he didn't think so. It usually took strange sounds or-

On his bedside table, his official red bedroom phone rang with a soft trill. Chosen for the simple fact that the sound was too low to wake up his sleeping wife, the sound was a rather persistent, but intermittent buzzing hum that caught his attention when dead asleep. This fact had helped him many times in the last five years to maintain his marital bliss. Although he loved his wife with all of his heart, she was not at her most charming when woken in the middle of the night.

Slowly extricating his right arm from beneath Sharon's head, Lazlo slid across the mattress, regretfully leaving their combined warmth for the colder part of the bed. The fine silk pajamas that he wore helped him slide across the bed sheets, his muscular frame pressing into the cloying comfort of the bed. With the improvements that mattress technology had enjoyed during his lifetime, the sleeping woman did not even notice the weight shifting as he reached the edge of the bed.

Reaching a silk-clad arm from beneath the covers, he reached out a strong hand for the humming phone. Finding the receiver in the dark room on his second try, he pulled it off the base, the archaic coiled cord stretching out as he pulled the speaker up to his ear.

With his head half covered by the comforter blocking what light penetrated the tall curtains, he was half way back to sleeping as he recognized the voice of Rafe Holmes, Director of National Intelligence, speaking into his ear. A few, long moments passed as the words began to penetrate his brain, fighting for dominance with the worried thoughts that had gone to bed with him, and apparently woken up with him as well. He knew that whatever news the man was trying to tell him must be important, for him to call the President on his personal phone line in the middle of the night, but the cotton filling his head made it hard to think.

"Could you repeat that?" Lazlo uttered into the phone.

He spoke quietly, trying not to wake the woman sleeping in the bed next to him. There was no reason that she should suffer from a lack of sleep as well, even if he was currently suffering. Luckily, she had always been a sound sleeper, and only stirred slightly at the sound of his voice.

"Our project at Lunar Outlook has found what appears to be a crashed alien ship on the Moon," the calm voice of Rafe Holmes repeated, his word finally cutting through the last vestiges of sleep from the President's head.

"You mean to tell me that a project designed to scout out resources on the Moon has just found the wreckage of an alien shipwreck?" he grunted into the phone, Shannon stirring behind him again.

"Yes, Mister President," Holmes replied. "At this time we have managed to get a reading on the ship's main form beneath the surface of the moon, covered in moon dust. Scans from the EM-Dar are causing gravity waves to emanate from the object, which Doctor Hamlin - who is in charge of the project - believes means that we should be able to figure out how the craft was able to reach its final destination from an extra-solar origin."

Now fully awake, the President's mind worked on the possibilities of this monumental find.

If it was indeed an alien ship lying dead and unclaimed up there on the Moon, who knows what kind of technology could be held within, just waiting for humans to decipher. Even the fact that they had managed to create an effect altering gravity with what little influence the Lunar Ghost probe had upon the surface indicated that, at least, could be brought back and studied.

Priority one, of course, would be securing the site.

Luckily, they had been ready to launch the first of the Constellation missions to place a more permanent human presence on the moon within the next few months. With the urgency of this find, they should be able to move the time table forward. During his last status report on that project, his staff had indicated that the only delay in launching was making sure that the most recent scans did not show any potential issues with the landing site they already had a moon crawler preparing.

Undoubtedly, they would need to do some last minute training and preparations, as getting ready for a mission of this scope was no minor task. That would give him the chance to have his speech writers come up with something inspiring that would hopefully not give away the hidden purpose behind the early launch.

If they could discover how to harness the power of gravity itself, that alone would leapfrog technological development. Humanity's development of computers had caused their technological climb to skyrocket, and he could only imagine what new things they would discover from the alien craft. If they were lucky, then perhaps they could discover how the original owners of the craft had navigated through space, how they built their computers, and how they powered their technology.

Perhaps they would find the solution to the growing energy needs of Humanity. That alone would postpone his species from killing themselves off as they quickly ran out of the resources needed to keep themselves alive. Even if that failed, then the ability to harness gravity itself could help them spread their way past the surface of their own planet in earnest, and reach new worlds to populate out there amongst the stars.

One could hope.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own any of the series used in the production of this fanfiction. I would list the things that I do not own, but I would prefer to keep the number of spoilers down if at all possible. Suffice it to say that not all of the materials used will be actual full crossovers, but you will likely recognize materials and concepts from a varied grouping of science fiction sources.

**Author's Note:**

I could have kept on going with this chapter, but I realized that I had already hit around 10k words when I reached a possible stopping point. One of the difficulties I am still adjusting to is that I have a rough outline of all of the scenes from start to finish of this story planned out, but I will never be quite sure how long each scene will end up being once I get it put down into actual prose. For the most part I will allow content to chose the length of each chapter, as I want to choose a logical stopping point for each one, but common sense must also win out over sheer length of each chapter.

With that said, the ultimate goal is to get the entire Book written down so that when we get to future Books in the series, those who have started the journey from the beginning will understand what makes this universe different from Canon.

* * *

**Magnum Opus**

**Book One: Exodus**

**Chapter 2**

* * *

**Undisclosed Location - Tuesday, Nov 4, 2025 - Morning**

Dressed today in a rather sharp black three piece suit, with his jacket hanging upon a wooden coat rack near the door, Rafe Holmes was currently relaxing in his wood paneled office. His sock-covered feet were resting upon his ottoman, warmed by the low fire that glowed in his fireplace, burned half down to embers. Light from the wall mounted gas lamps revealed a troubled wrinkle on his brow as he stared at the monitor of his jarringly modern laptop, the single technological device all the indication that he was anything more than a Victorian gentleman at rest.

Handel's Sarabande was playing on a wood and brass, hand-cranked phonograph that sat upon his unused desk at the far end of the windowless room. The classic melody filled the room with life, string instruments and the tinny sound of a harpsichord occasionally backed by the deep resounding voice of drums.

Absentmindedly noticing that the sound quality was not as nice as it had been when he had last enjoyed this particular record, the Director of National Intelligence made a mental note that he would have to have another copy made and sent to his office. He had found when he was in college that this particular melody helped crystallize his thought process, when he had listened to a friend's copy while studying in Cambridge.

While his position was traditionally more of an organizational role, that of overseeing the sixteen different branches of the Intelligence community, Holmes had always taken a more hands on approach to his job. Although he had often been likened to a certain character in a series of old detective novels, which he withstood with a small ounce of chagrin, he considered his own personal observational skills somewhat lacking in a field position. His own strengths lied in sifting through mountains of data, and almost instinctively finding patterns that would elude those around him.

Most of his days were spend in his deliberately archaic surroundings, busy sifting through bits and pieces of information gathered by the numerous intelligence organizations that reported to him, searching for these patterns. It had been under his watchful gaze that it was first realized that those individuals who received the Prolong treatment had been aging at a slower rate, as he compared the case of hospitalizations and obituaries with different medical conditions and prescribed treatments.

Hands stilling upon his laptop keyboard, Holmes realized that he had just spotted another potential pattern to the multitude of reports he had been going over this morning.

Numerous facts had slipped to the news networks and media, many of which had been intended to remain restricted information, regarding the current space launch missions operating out of Kennedy Space Center. Even though only a small amount of information had been leaked, his mind noted that numerous suppliers and technology firms had altered their manufacturing or prices a step ahead of the official reports. This had driven up the operational costs of the space program by a measurable amount. Though the overall financial impact was not enough to impede the nation's efforts, it was troublesome that some of the market's reactions were stemming from facts that could only be attained if one had inside resources with access to classified information.

Holmes created a mental list of those individuals within the Kennedy Space Center that would have access to at least a significant portion of the information needed to cause this effect. He was able to immediately dismiss the head of the project, Major General Stan Lee, as well as several of the top project scientists and team leads, as they had access to information that could have easily caused a much greater effect than he was observing.

Slowly removing potential names from the list as the morning dragged on, hands working furiously at the laptop to bring up files on the different potentials, he was eventually able to narrow down his list of suspects to a very small group of individuals. Fortunately, this process was helped along by the fact that certain things had been leaked directly to the media outlets that, due to the subject matter in question, required a high level of familiarity to adequately pass along. These last few observances allowed Holmes to narrow the list down to one, final suspect.

Air Force Captain Philip Howell was currently flagged as the ARES 2 Lunar Lander pilot for the upcoming Moon Landing mission, where they would be officially placing the first habitat for the Armstrong Moon Base. Unofficially, the mission would be to also scout out the remains of the recently discovered alien shipwreck. Hopefully this mission would return materials and information that would allow humanity to unlock the secrets held within the shipwreck on how the object was altering gravity, and how it had arrived to their little corner of the galaxy from abroad, travelling between the stars.

Luckily, the ARES II crew had yet to be briefed on this particular aspect of the Constellation I mission, thus protecting this information from whatever individual or organization Captain Howell had been feeding classified information to over the last several months. Holmes could well imagine the disaster that would have befallen the nation if he had not noticed this problem in time to prevent utter disaster.

Gently placing his laptop upon the dark oak end table that set beside his overstuffed leather wing back chair, the Director swung his feet down from there they had been resting on his ottoman. Standing smoothly from where he had been sitting, he made his way to the back of his office, socks whispering on thick carpet as he crossed the room with a few long legged strides.

When he reached his desk, Holmes gently reached forwards and lifted the phonograph needle from the record, the absence of music making the crackle of his low fire fill the room. Moving the tone arm inwards until the turntable stopped with a mechanical click, he turned off the phonograph, and swung the arm back to the outer edge and rested it upon its cradle.

Upon his desk, next to the phonograph, sat an unusual phone made of wood, brass, and porcelain. An old style handset sat upon a saddle mount on top of the phone, a dark wooden handle bracketed on either side with brass hardware leading to porcelain cones for the speaker and microphone. The base itself held no buttons, nor even a rotary dialer. Instead, an operative in the outer office that lay beyond his heavy wooden door picked up on the other end of the line when he brought the handset up to his ear.

"Good morning, Nigel," Holmes greeted the man on the other end of the line.

"Good morning, sir," Nigel responded. "What can I do to assist you today?"

"If you would be so kind, I would like for you to get Anastasia Kemon on the phone for me, please," Holmes replied, asking for the head of the Air Force Office of Special Investigations.

"Of course, sir."

* * *

**Lunar Outlook AFB, Administration - Wednesday, Nov 5, 2025 - Mid Day**

Rhythmic thumping broke into the silence of Colonel Tanner's office as the sound of an Osprey flying over the base broke through the sound suppressing double-paned windows of his office. Looking over at the two narrow windows that cut through the thick concrete outer wall of the Administration building like the arrow slits on a medieval castle, the Colonel looked at the bright blue sky that was barely visible from the angle of his office chair.

Although intellectually he knew that it wasn't likely for him to be able to spot the plane from where he was sitting, his eyes were glued to those narrow lines of blue light. Eventually the sound of the passing plane faded into the distance as it headed towards the landing field at the far end of the base, allowing his attention to return back to the report sitting on his desk.

Ever since they had discovered the crashed spaceship on the Moon three days ago the base had been placed on lockdown. Nobody was allowed to enter or leave the base, and all contact with the outside world was restricted until the lockdown was lifted. According the report from Command Chief Master Sergeant Koertig-the man who reported to the Base Commander on the status of the enlisted members-there was already some tension about not having contact with the outside world.

Tanner could understand the men's irritation, as the main complaint was that only the scientists and the officers who worked directly in the Command Center had any clue as to what was going on. Still, that didn't change the fact that orders had come down from the top to keep a lid on things, which was an order that the Colonel agreed with completely.

Most everyone on base knew that the officers and scientists who worked at the Command Center had suddenly been called in on a Sunday evening like a fire had been lit beneath them. When you added the presence of Colonel Tanner and Doctor Hamlin driving at high speed away from the Recreational building together at the same time as all this was happening, it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to know that something major had happened. Next, the logical step would be that they had found something with that very expensive, very new probe they had recently launched.

Due to the regularly low levels of interaction, the secluded desert base normally had with the outside world, it was deemed less conspicuous for them to shut down all non-critical communications until a formal response was formed. This meant that, unless the situation was resolved within the next few weeks, a large number of people would be staying on base for Thanksgiving, despite their pre-approved leave.

If he had known that commanding the 101st Space wing at the Lunar Outlook Air Force Base would have been so similar to herding cats, he might not have accepted the promotion. Of course, that would mean that somebody less qualified for the position might have gotten the job instead, and the work they were doing here had suddenly become a whole lot more important since last Sunday.

Finishing the report, the Colonel closed its folder and placed it in the out box on top of the rest of the folders he had already completed that morning.

Picking up the final folder that was still sitting in his in box, he noticed that it was a logistics report from Doctor Hamlin. All of the final tests had been completed in the first Armstrong Habitat, which was going to be used in the Constellation I mission in a week and a half. With all of the tests done, and the unit packed up and prepared for use, the next step was to get it shipped to the other side of the nation so that it could be added to the nose of the ARES V cargo rocket in final preparation for the mission.

Placing the final needed signature on the shipping request, he closed its folder and dropped it ceremoniously and placed it on top of the report from Command Chief Master Sergeant Koertig. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and brought the palms of his hands up to rub against them to try to drive away the ache that was developing behind them.

A conscious effort was made by the base commander not to take his hands away from his face when he heard the habitual triple-knock of his executive assistant upon his office door. Moments later, the other man entered the room, footsteps soft on the carpeted floor of Tanner's office. With a rustle of paper and cloth, the welcome sound of his finished paperwork being removed from his outbox was music to his ears. Moments later, it was followed by the ceramic clunk of a mug landing on his desk, the smell of the base equivalent of coffee hitting his senses like a Mack truck going eighty.

Opening his eyes and reaching for the coffee cup placed before him, Tanner nodded his thanks to his executive assistant, Major Trujillo. The clean cut officer stood at attention two steps away from the Colonel's desk, the stack of completed paperwork held tight against his side in his left arm. Eyes noticing a brilliant white envelope in his in box, he took a sip of his coffee, mentally swearing once more that the Supply Chief had mixed the labels up of coffee with the industrial cleaners. Leaning back in his chair, he eyed the younger man with a thousand yard stare.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or is there a new file in my in box, Major?" Colonel Tanner asked in a deceptively calm tone.

"Just came in on a courier plane, sir," the olive skinned officer replied. "Your eyes only, and direct from the top if I had to hazard a guess. That courier plane definitely wasn't on the schedule, but all of their codes checked out to allow them on base, even with the lockdown. Their plane is still idling over at the landing field, taking on more fuel, awaiting a response of some kind."

"The hell, you say," Tanner muttered, looking at the sealed envelope like it was a deadly viper waiting to bite him. "Well, I had best take a look then."

Keeping his warm coffee cup in his left hand, he reached the other out and picked up the sealed envelope from the short wooden tray at the edge of his desk. His eyes passed over the bright red, unbroken seal that ran along one edge of the envelope, indicating that its contents had not been revealed since the original sender had placed them within.

Bold red letters spelled the words 'Eyes Only' on both the front and the back of the envelope, and the only other markings to be seen were both his name, rank, and location as the recipient. It had been curious to him that a plane had landed at the air base without rousing the anti air defenses while they were on lockdown, but more curious still was why the informational quarantine was risked for this rather small package.

Gently placing his half-empty cup to the side, he tore the seal tape off, the bright red strip changing to an alternating red and white chevron pattern as the dyes in the tape reacted to the air. Discarding the ruined seal tape into his waste bin, he pulled out the triple-folded piece of paper that was so important as to require hand delivery, and unfolded it so that it lay flat upon the surface of his desk.

Sitting before him were a set of moving orders for one of the more promising young men in his command. First Lieutenant Simon Riggs was being ordered to immediate reassignment to the 45th Space Wing, operating out of Kennedy Space Center. More specifically, he was being assigned to the ARES II rocket, which was scheduled to launch on the Saturday after next, with an ultimate destination of the Moon.

Ever since being assigned to the Lunar Outlook AFB, Riggs had been working underneath Doctor Hamlin as a tester for the tools and equipment planned for use in the Constellation missions. Originally taking this at face value as the Doctor wanting more than just civilian technicians and scientists working on things that men's lives would rely upon nearly a quarter million miles away from the closest assistance, the Colonel was now wo0ndering if the Doctor had planned something like this from the very beginning. Nevertheless, it did not take much of an imagination to understand that all of the skills and experience that Riggs had picked up on this project were exactly what he would need when he went into space.

Thinking back to when he was that age, Tanner's eyes wandered over to his bookshelf, locking on to a framed picture sitting upon one of the shelves.

He was much younger in the picture, dressed in an olive green flight suit with his helmet dangling from his hand at his left side. Looming behind him, larger than life, was his old Fairchild Republic, A-10 Thunderbird II, still covered in the dust and debris of midair combat. Unlike other Warthogs that had shark's mouths or tusks painted on the nose, his sported an impressive rack of giant deer antlers woven throughout with ivy. Written in neat cursive on the plane, directly above his head in this picture, the call sign 'Huntsman' was written in near cursive.

Sitting next to the picture was the same flight helmet, painted dark green, with gold-leaf lettering spelling out his call sign in two wide stripes running front to back. On the other side stood one of the giant 23mm rounds used in the A-10's GAU-8/A Avenger Vulcan cannon.

That had been a day to remember, as he had finally downed his fifth plane, becoming an Ace. He had been young, immortal, and his knees didn't have that familiar ache he now felt whenever it rained.

Many people underestimated the A-10 in the role of a dogfighter, as it lacked the speed and agility that most of the high-end fighter jets had come to rely on. Woe to those who forgot that, when you fly in front of its nose, you also fly in front of the largest flying rotary cannon in the world. When that flight had been over, he felt that he had earned that title, and he was proud of it still.

Chuckling to himself, he looked back down to the orders, then up to the still waiting Major. So spit and polish that he could have stepped out of a recruitment poster, he was still standing at ruler-straight attention, reminding the Colonel why he had chosen the other man to be his assistant. There was no doubt in his mind that the base would have fallen apart if he didn't have this man around, as well as others such as Command Chief Master Sergeant Koertig, to ride herd.

"Well now, it appears that we need to call First Lieutenant Simon Riggs into my office, Major," Tanner told his Executive Assistant in an officious voice. "Apparently, he's about to become someone else's problem for a while."

"Yes, Sir," Trujillo nodded, eyes level. "Shall I send the MPs for him, or call him to your office over the PA, Sir?"

"No, no," the base commander shook his head. "He isn't in any kind of trouble, no need for the MPs. Using the PA system would be a bit overmuch as well... If I recall his schedule correctly, he should be over at the Lunar Simulation building at this time of day. Give a call to Doctor Hamlin to pass on the message we want Riggs to report here as soon as possible. Hopefully we can catch him before he leaves for his lunch break."

"Of course, Sir," the Major saluted, quickly leaving the office once he was dismissed to carry out his orders.

Picking up his cup, Tanner took another large drink of the bitter brew, unable to fight off the grimace that ran across his face at the taste. Even though it might be able to cleanse engine parts, one could not argue with the welcome effects the caffeine had to the desk bound pilot, allowing him to do his job without falling asleep at the stick.

"Well, this ought to be interesting," he muttered to himself, looking down at the orders.

* * *

**Lunar Outlook AFB, Lunar Simulation - Wednesday, Nov 5, 2025 - Mid Day**

Bright light reflected off the pale dusty gray ground, the small rocks and boulders casting harsh shadows creating a confusing mass of light and darkness that threw the senses. Thankful of the gold-tinted visor that covered the top half of his domed helmet, First Lieutenant Simon Riggs fought to maintain his equilibrium in his confusing surroundings. Scalp itching, and sweat beading his forehead, he suffered beneath the intense heat produced by the electric lamps currently simulating the light of the Sun. Pressurized air flowed from the climate control system built into the back of his space suit, working valiantly to keep him cool as he maneuvered around on the fake lunar surface.

His suit could not maintain its proper shape without the air pressure given by the suit's air system, but it also had the effect of making it difficult to bend his arms and legs within the confines of the sturdy material. Worst of all were the gloves, which were formed with a half-closed shape, and capped at the ends with blunt armored tips. It took great effort to flex the fingers due to the resistance, and prolonged use wore out his forearms, the muscles and tendons aching from overuse.

Making sure to be careful with each movement, he shifted the weight of the anchor gun in his gloved hands. Designed to drive anchor spikes into the surface of the Moon, the tool looked like the bastard child of a jackhammer and a bazooka. Airless explosives were used to simultaneously drive anchor spikes into the ground, while at the same time sending an equal yet opposite blast from the nozzles opposite the barrel. This kept it's operator from flying off the surface of the Moon in it's one sixth of Earth's gravity.

Having worked with, or more honestly survived, the anchor gun in many of its previous iterations, Riggs had to admit to himself that this model was so far the best he had handled. Through great trial and error, they had worked through such problems as the ergonomics of man-handling the awkward tool while enclosed in a space suit. By this point, this anchor gun had been tested thoroughly both in atmosphere, as well as in a vacuum, thanks to a large vacuum chamber built into the side of the building.

He shifted the unwieldy device into position with a grunt of effort as he prepared himself for the final test firings before the anchor gun was packed up and shipped off to NASA Headquarters over at Kennedy Space Center. One of the more recent additions was a small, sub-surface scanner that tested for mineral density, showing the results on a small built in display. Squeezing the left hand trigger with his gloved hand, he activated the scanner, a ghostly green glow lighting up on the durable monitor revealing the faint outlines of several large rocks, as well as the darker background of loose dirt.

Taking a deep steadying breath, and slowly releasing it, he gently pulled on the right hand trigger. With a loud coughing sound, a titanium alloy spike was fired into the ground, a small explosion of dust and dirt floating in the air in the bright light in the aftermath. Only the equal force of the exhaust port on the other side of the anchor gun kept Riggs from being shoved onto his back from the recoil. Thanking the engineers who had fixed the timing issue with the recoil, he eased his right hand off the trigger and waited for the debris to settle back down.

Due to the durable construction of the suit, as well as the constant flow of air blowing past his face, Riggs had to rely mainly upon his eyes to keep track of his environment. Everything had been done to create the highest level of realism for the Lunar Simulation room, short of pumping all of the air out to create a vacuum. More often than not, they also had him hooked up to a weight harness to simulate the one sixth gravity of the moon. They had forgone that added dimension for this test, as the straps had a tendency to get in the way of the anchor gun itself.

Suddenly a shadow crossed the dusty gray ground in front of him, causing the young man to look up from where he had been visually inspecting his handiwork.

Standing not ten feet away was Doctor Hamlin, wearing a white lab coat and a pair of black hip waders, fine gray dust covering him from the knee down. Standing just a hair beneath six feet, the doctor was only shorter than Riggs was at the moment due to the added height of the space suit the younger man was encased in. Hamlin's stooped shoulders belied an energetic strength that was deceptive for a man of his age, and his aged hands showed the signs of hard work and constant use.

Watching in amusement as the Doctor's mouth moved unheard, muffled by the suit's material and drowned out by the sound of rushing air, Riggs finally took pity on the excited older man. Taking his right hand off of the trigger guard for the anchor gun, he raised it up to his helmet and tapped the side next to his ear, reminding the Doctor that he couldn't hear through it.

With a chagrined look on his bearded face, the doctor reached down and pulled a small hand radio from a front pocket in his lab coat, and held it up to his face.

"There' that's much better, right?" Hamlin joked, his voice sounding from the helmet speakers. "Can you hear me now?"

"Loud and clear, Doctor," Riggs replied into his voice activated throat microphone.

"Good," Hamlin nodded. "We're done with testing for now. Apparently these people would like something called 'lunch', and want time away from the lab so they can have it."

"Well, not all of us can survive off of science alone," Riggs replied to the joke.

Nonsense, they just are not trying hard enough," the Doctor shook his head. "Be that as it may, I just got a call ordering you to report to the Colonel over at the Administration building as soon as possible."

"Yes, Sir," Riggs nodded. "I had better get out of this suit, then."

"Indeed. It would not do to report to the base commander out of uniform, after all," Hamlin said, chuckling.

Flipping the power switch off to fully deactivate the anchor gun, the space suited man stepped back from where he had driven the last spike into the ground. A nearby crane lowered a steel cable with a small hook at the end as a lab coated technician walked out of the nearby observation room to hook the cable onto the anchor.

This was all part of the ritual, as a scale attached to the crane gave a reading on how much force was required to remove the anchor spike from the simulated lunar surface. They had a fair idea of the minimum amount of strength that would be required to keep the Armstrong Habitat anchored to the Moon's surface. With that in mind, they wanted to be sure that they left a large margin of error to best ensure the astronaut's safety.

Following the technician back to the observation room, Riggs hefted the anchoring gun on his shoulder like a rifle. He made special care not to point the business end at anything that shouldn't have a metal spike driven through it.

Like the technician, for example.

Once they entered the observation room, another technician that had been standing by took the anchor gun off his hands, carrying it through a door and off into another part of the building. He knew that they would be testing all of the parts for wear and tear, so that they could be sure of what parts on the deceptively simple device might need redesigning again, or just have spares made to send with.

Against one of the walls was a metal hatch with a large wheel lock in the middle, replicating the outside airlock door that would be used on the real Habitat. Twisting the wheel with his gloved hands, he opened the door to the air lock and shuffled in, easily fitting through even with the added bulk of his space suit. Turning around inside the small room, he reached out and pulled a mechanical lever that eased the hatch closed from the inside, then spun the wheel again to seal it.

Magnetic filters on the far wall immediately began to attract the imitation Moon dust that clung to his suit, gathered during his recent walk through the Simulation room. Shuffling over to a strange panel on the wall, he turned his body around until he could maneuver the hard, hunch backed shell pack on his space suit into the matching recess.

Once the suit was properly in place, a slight tingle ran across his body as a de-ionizing burst ran from top to bottom of the pack, along with several small bursts of directed air. This final step was to remove any excess Moon dust from the pack before it could contaminate the area beyond.

Due to its fine grain, and tendency to become ionized in the surface conditions on the Moon, the lunar dust was not only a health hazard, but also potentially damaging to electronics and life control systems. Every precaution was taken to ensure that none of this abrasive, dust like material entered the living quarters that would be the Astronaut's only bastion of safety.

Once the automated system was sure that there was no remaining lunar dust on the back of the suit, a green all-clear signal lit up on the interior of his helmet, reflecting off the inside of the visor. Reaching his gloved hand down to a durable lever on his left hand side, Riggs pulled it up in a practiced motion. With a rush of air as the higher internal pressure of the suit equalized with the room behind him, the hard shell back of the suit opened up and swung outwards as part of the final door.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the sensation of having his ears pop, he carefully leaned back out of the suit, removing his arms from the stiff sleeves. His hands then grabbed the grip bar mounted around the small secondary hatch, allowing him to pull his legs out of the suit and pull the rest of his body on to the padded floor.

Rolling over on the soft surface, Riggs pushed himself up on to his feet, feeling amazingly light after shuffling around in the space suit for the last few hours. Since he had not been hooked up into the light weight simulation harness, he had been forced to lug the heavy weight around unassisted. This was made more difficult by the fact that he had to remain aware of his altered center of gravity at all times while wearing the suit.

Once out of the suit, Riggs was left wearing a synthetic fiber jumpsuit designed to keep the space suit from rubbing his body raw as he moved around in it. Shimmering light blue cloth clung to his frame like he had stepped out of an old science fiction movie as he reached his now bare hands up to the zipper that ran from the neckline down to his waist.

Beneath the jumpsuit he was wearing what the people at NASA called a 'Maximum Absorption Garment', which was fancy science talk for an astronaut diaper. In case an astronaut needed to answer the call of nature while fully suited, they would not have the time or even opportunity to remove the suit and go to the bathroom in any amount of time that would matter.

Luckily, in this case, the only thing it was holding other than his butt, was the sweat that had tricked down his spine from the heat and exertion of working in the Simulation.

With the jumpsuit removed and placed within a small laundry hamper, he next removed the MAG and placed it in a biological disposal chute for the system to recycle. Hopping on one foot, and then the other, he removed his socks to follow the path of the jumpsuit. Next he made his way over to the corner of the room where a small shower stood in an alcove, closing the foggy windowed door behind himself as he entered.

Of all the 'innovations' for the Habitat, the shower was one of the things that still tended to freak him out the most. Originally designed with a solid opaque door, and sporting a single light right above your head, all of the testers had decided that the sensation was too close to that of closing yourself in a coffin.

When Stevenson has visited the mock-up to test a portable EM-Dar unit, she had suggested a lightweight plastic window upon seeing the shower. The first time he had showered with the new door installed, he had to restrain the urge to immediately go to his petite friend and kiss her, no matter who was watching.

It was a close call on that one, though.

Hitting a green-lit button on the wall opposite the door, the sandy-haired young man started the pre- programmed shower sequence. Water just above lukewarm temperature sprayed from numerous nozzles placed along the walls of the automated shower, causing him to close his eyes as the directional blasts started from the top of his head and worked their way down. In moments the sweat from his body was thoroughly rinsed off, and he had an even coating of water, preparing him for the next step in the sequence.

Next came the soap, mixed together with another series of timed water blasts. Ph balanced, super concentrated, and bio-degradable, the soap was designed for maximum cleaning power and overall utility. With the right mixture with the water, a small measure of this soap went a long way in covering him from head to toe in a short amount of time.

Once the shower had completed the pass down his body with the soap, the button turned from green to amber as the program paused. Expecting this, he quickly lathered himself with the soap, making sure to keep his eyes closed even though the soap was designed to be safe for them. He had made that mistake once when he was a teenager, with a much cheaper, much less over designed soap before. Ever since, he had treated soap with great respect when it came to getting it anywhere near his face.

After making sure he had gotten everywhere, he hit the amber button, turning the light back to green. Water once again sprayed on him from all four sides, quickly rinsing the soap off his body and down the drain at his feet. Once again making use of the tools nature gave him, he helped the water take the soap off by running his hands over the areas where it tended to stick a bit.

The final cycle was a burst of dry, heated air that cycled through the shower alcove. The heavy wind stirred his hair around his head as it imitated a hot air hand dryer built to scale for the entire body, quickly driving his skin off as good as any towel ever did. It was no true replacement for a good towel, as it didn't help remove dry skin from the body like a good rub down with terry cloth, but it did the job.

With a 'ding' the automated shower completed it cycle, and the door opened slightly ajar on its own to indicate that it was time for him to exit.

Stepping out of the shower, the young First Lieutenant grabbed a fresh set of BDUs from a small cubbyhole next to the alcove. Dressing with military speed and precision, he soon left the small mock-up, not knowing it would be his last time in an imitation.

* * *

**Titusville, Florida - Wednesday, Nov 5, 2025 - Evening**

Located next to the Kennedy Space Center on the North Eastern coast of Florida, the city of Titusville was just beginning to recover from a double blow of first a failing world economy, then a loss of business and employment when NASA had temporarily shut down its launch program back in 2012. Now that NASA was back in full swing, unemployment levels had dropped dramatically as new jobs, and new money, flowed into the region.

Philip Howell, United States Air Force Captain and Lunar Lander pilot of the ARES II rocket, had left base that afternoon to enjoy the effects of this bolstered economy in the form of a well cooked steak and several beers. Although he was disappointed that his regular company had not shown up that evening, he consoled himself with the thought that she might have had more pressing business to attend to. As it was, the meal had been excellent, and the alcohol he now had in his system helped ease his worries about where she might have gone off to.

Salty sea air fought for dominance with the smell of cooked steak as he stepped outside into the evening, his brown eyes passing over the cars parked in the nearly full lot. Sounds of laughter and loud music spilled out from the open doors behind him as he worked on finding his own car amongst all the others, shaking off his concerns about his lack of feminine companionship that evening.

With the sun just now finishing setting in the west in a brilliant palate of colors, and the street lamps just beginning to turn on, it was somewhat difficult to spot his car amongst all those that had joined it in the last hour or so.

After a few moments, he finally spotted his car parked in the far corner of the lot, closest to the exit to the main road. He always preferred to park next to the exit of the parking lot, so that he didn't have to fight traffic on his way out, even if it meant a bit more walking.

Patting first his red shirt, then his black jeans down, Howell finally found his car keys in his left hand pocket, exactly where he had left them earlier. Normally he wouldn't have to look, but the alcohol in his system was making him a bit slow on the draw this evening.

The thought ran through his head that maybe he shouldn't have drank quite as much beer as he had. Perhaps it would be a good idea for him to take a short, after meal nap in the back seat of his car before he got behind the wheel.

As he approached, the Captain noticed a man standing next to his car dressed in a rather plain black business suit. With both the sunset and the nearby street lamp behind the other man, it was impossible for Howell to read his expression in the obscuring shadow. Caution flooded him, trying to chase the alcohol out of his system as he took in the rather official appearance of the man standing there.

"Can I help you?" he asked, trying desperately to sound sober.

"Captain Philip Howell?" the other man stated.

"Yes, that's me," Howell nodded, hand holding his car keys in a tight grasp that caused the metal to dig into his callused palm. "Who is asking?"

"Agent Trovosky, OSI," the Agent replied, flashing a badge attached to his belt next to a pair of handcuffs. "I need you to come with me to answer some questions down at the office."

Wondering if he had finally been found out, he stumbled backwards away from the Agent as if he were the devil himself. His drunken stumble propelled him only a few scant feet before he ran into something large and immovable, confusion running through his head for a few brief moments before a massive arm wrapped around his neck from behind. Moments later, the other arm joined in the grappling effort as it reached down for his left hand, perhaps thinking that he held a weapon instead of car keys there.

Reacting on instinct, the now panicking astronaut lifted his right leg and dragged the hard heel of his boot down the front of his assailant's shin, and slammed it hard on the arch of the other man's foot. With a loud grunt of hot air passing by his ear, the man behind him loosened his grip in reaction to the cheap shot.

Leaning forward and rolling his body more by luck than skilled coordination, Howell threw the man over his shoulder and onto the ground before him. With an indignant shout, the giant man landed on the pavement with an explosion of air, the breath knocked out of him.

Under the light of the nearby street lamp, he could tell that the man now at his feet also wore the same, nondescript black business suit that the man who had spoken to him had. In the brief flash of lucidity brought on by the adrenalin in his system, he noticed the slim coiled wire of a radio snaking down from the man's ear and into his shirt collar. In the back of his head he noted that was the same kind of radio you saw the Secret Service men wear in the movies.

Moments later his thoughts were rudely interrupted when a fist came out of the twilight and slammed into the left side of his jaw. Stumbling a few steps to the side, he shook his head to regain his senses, barely having time to dodge a follow-up blow. Dressed in an identical black suit, his new opponent stood in a tense boxer stance, tight fists held in front of his chin. Even with the low lighting, he could see a sneer on the other man's face, likely from the fact that he had just knocked out his partner just moments ago.

Accepting the agent's challenge, he also brought up his own hands in a boxing guard, doing his best to shift his weight evenly on his feet. Dodging another quick punch from the man, he tested the waters with a few quick jabs of his own that failed to get through the other man's guard. Deciding to go for his strengths, he did a quick faint with his right hand, and followed up with a brutal southpaw blow that caught the agent off guard.

Excited over landing the blow, Howell failed to react in time when the agent quickly closed inside his guard, and began to hammer him with bare knuckled body blows. Reacting on instinct, he brought his guard down to protect his ribs, trying to weather the storm. Already knowing that he was going to be heavily bruised from this fight, he fought against the pain that was filling his body, and snapped off a quick elbow strike at the agent's head.

Dazed by the elbow strike which had struck him in the temple, his opponent did not have the ability to roll with his fall. Landing with a sickening thud as his head hit the pavement, the man lay still on the ground before the tired, bruised, and dazed astronaut. After a few moments of watching the still figure, he realized that the other man was not going to be getting up to continue the fight any time soon.

Clutching his ribs against the pain, he took a deep, cautious breath to test them. Immediately regretting this action, he broke out into several deep coughs moments later, driving fresh spikes of pain from his bruised torso. At the same time though, he was relieved that he had managed to defend himself from the two men who had attacked him.

Now he had the problem of finding out wither they really were from the Air Force Office of Special Investigations, or just imposters sent to kidnap themselves an astronaut. The idea of going back to lie down in the back seat of his car was sounding even more attractive as the adrenaline began dying down, making him even more aware of the pain that he was now in.

Music and laughter still spilled out from the steakhouse, unperturbed, and perhaps unnoticing, of the fight that had just occurred outside. Of course, with the number of large motorcycles parked out front, they might be used to random fights in the parking lot.

Not noticing the metallic click that sounded from behind him, Howell's world dissolved into a field of stars followed by the darkness of unconsciousness as a slim metal rod slammed into the back of his head. In the confusing twilight melee, Howell had not paid close attention to the fact that the two men he had fought against did not include the first man who had spoken to him.

* * *

Kneeling next to the unconscious astronaut, Agent Trovosky reached a hand down to check the man's pulse. Once he had assured himself that Howell was both alive, as well as solidly unconscious from the blow to the head he had given him, the Agent closed up his Asp, and placed the collapsible baton back into his pocket.

Cursing to himself over what a FUBAR this assignment had turned out to be, Trovosky walked over to the larger of his two subordinates. Rolling the man over, he chuckled as he saw the contented look on the sleeping giant's face. Calm, deep breathing told the Agent that all was well with his friend, though he did not envy the headache that would greet him upon returning to the waking world.

Patting the unconscious man on his meaty shoulder, he then went over to the last man to check him out.

Within moments the grin dropped off his face as he saw the state of the final man on his team. Innocent as it had seemed, the fall he had taken from that final elbow strike had caused his head to impact against the hard pavement of the parking lot a lot harder than it had looked from the sidelines. Beneath the man's head there was a slowly growing pool of dark blood, almost invisible against the dark pavement in the half light of the setting sun.

Resisting the almost overpowering urge to take his baton and work out his frustrations on the unconscious man, Trovosky reached down and felt the injured man's neck for a pulse. After a few long moments, he finally felt a pulse, weak as it was. Releasing the breath he had not even noticed he had been holding, he reached his other hand up to his ear, toggling his radio.

"Agent Trovosky reporting," he said into the concealed microphone in his collar. "I have secured the target, but there have been complications. I am going to need a bus sent to my location to retrieve two downed Agents, and I also request further assistance in securing transportation of the target."

"Acknowledged, Agent," a woman's voice spoke into his ear bud with a Greek accent. "Be advised that the immediate priority is securing of the target, and that a nearby van is on its way for transportation. A request has already been made for an ambulance to be sent for the injured agents, and be assured that we will do our best to look out for your men."

"Understood, ma'am," Trovosky replied.

Out of the growing darkness of the evening a large black panel van pulled out from around the corner, its headlights dark as it drove into the parking lot. With a crunch of loose gravel the nondescript vehicle stopped a short distance away from where he was now standing watch over the three unconscious men.

Once the vehicle had come to a complete stop, the side door to the van opened up, releasing several more agents into the evening light. One of them, obviously trained in first aid, immediately went to check the more injured of the two downed agents, pulling out a penlight and gently prying the man's eyelids open to check for pupil dilation.

In a flurry of movement and black suits, Howell was handcuffed with a black bag placed over his head. Moments later the bruised, beaten, and unconscious astronaut was loaded into the back of the van, the door sliding shut behind him. Leaving the medic behind, the vehicle backed out of the parking lot, driving off with its precious cargo.

* * *

**Lunar Outlook AFB, Lunar Simulation - Wednesday, Nov 5, 2025 - Mid Day**

Tired from his time spent in the bulky space suit, First Lieutenant Simon Riggs made his way down the short hallway that led to the main exit of the Lunar Simulation building.

Most of the scientists and technicians that were assigned to the project had just been let out on lunch, their voices bouncing off the plain walls as they talked with each other. Some were discussing the discovery made three days ago on Sunday, while others talked about the work that they had just been doing. Off to the side, two technicians were even commenting on Monday's football scores.

Following the river of people down the passage that led out into the world beyond their laboratories and workshops, he soon came to the large double doors of the exit, the metal slabs held open by a constant press of warm bodies. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out his mirror lens aviator sunglasses. Making sure to keep his elbows tucked in so that he didn't accidentally hit anyone, he placed the shades upon his face to block the bright sunlight he was exposed to moments later.

Since it was now thankfully the beginning of November, the base was actually a fairly comfortable mid-seventies up in the high desert. Having grown up on the shores of Flathead Lake in Montana, Riggs was used to extremes in temperature, but even he had to admit to himself that the heat they had experienced that summer had been a bit excessive.

Not that he would ever admit that to anyone else mind you, since any sane person already knew. One of the most sure-fire ways of starting a fight here was to ask the dreaded question 'is it hot enough for you?'

Few ever made the same mistake twice.

Vaguely noticing the sound of an idling Osprey coming from the nearby landing field, the First Lieutenant jogged towards one of the electric carts at the far end of the parking area, trying to make sure that he would have a chance to get one of the vehicles for himself. Since the electric carts were not assigned, it was not unheard of for someone to end up stranded at one end of the base and have to walk to their destination, since all of the carts had already been driven away.

Ignoring a lizard that was sunning itself on a nearby rock, Riggs sat down in the vinyl seat of the cart, glad that the person who had parked it had arranged for the front seats to be beneath the shade of the cart's canopy. Hearing someone shouting out his name, he paused with his hand hovering over the ignition switch, and glanced up from where he had been looking at the battery charge indicator. Looking around with curious green eyes protected by his mirrored sunglasses, he quickly spotted the person who had called out for him.

Rosa Dominguez was one of the most dedicated engineers that worked beneath Doctor Hamlin, her hands on approach to problems complimenting the often over thought or highly complicated ideas that the Doctor often came up with. Standing at six and a half feet tall, the woman towered over the other technicians and scientists who were still spilling out into the sunlight in search of a break and their mid-day meals. With her height advantage, it was no wonder that she had been able to spot him at the far end of the lot.

Waiting for the woman to approach, Riggs suppressed a chuckle as he saw several people instinctively shy away from the engineer.

Often hanging out with Stevenson and him on their off duty hours, Dominguez had become one of their few friends on base. Since the staff that worked within the Command Center were often viewed by the enlisted men as a snobby-though rare-elite, there was not much of a chance of finding friends on base. Even most of the civilian staff of scientists and technicians tended to shy away from them, as some considered the Air Force sensors technicians to be taking jobs on base that other, more 'qualified' civilian contractors could have filled instead.

Dominguez had dark, reddish brown hair that spilled out around her head in loose curls that she currently had pulled up against the back of her head, held in place there with a butterfly clip. Her deceptively soft looking oval face held a strong nose, and striking gray-green eyes, and a single loose strand of hair of was tucked behind her right ear highlighting her features.

Long, almost languid looking strides brought the woman over to where Riggs sat waiting on the driver's seat of the cart. Due to her height and the length of her legs, she could appear to be taking a leisurely stroll, and outpace most people when they were jogging.

She was dressed in a pair of khaki cargo pants tucked into a pair of light brown leather boots, a sand colored t-shirt peaking out under a button up cotton shirt matching her pants. Her shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing strong forearms and hands callused by hard manual labor in the machine shop.

The way her clothes hugged her frame hinted at the kind of body strength that comes not from steroids and weight lifting, but from steady manual labor. Overall, Rosa Dominguez was a picture perfect example of a Hispanic Amazon.

"Hey there, Riggs," Dominguez greeted with a Pacific Northwestern accent. "I think I finally got rid of that timing issue with the anchor gun recoil assist. I saw the results of the test, but I would appreciate your opinion."

"Yeah, you got it fixed up alright," Riggs agreed, nodding to his friend. "I didn't notice any jiggle in the gun when I fired it today... unlike that time that it tried to jump out of my arms."

"God, that was embarrassing for my team," she said, snorting a moment later as she thought of that occasion. "I swear, Zykowski wouldn't speak to me for a week. He swore that I had tried to get him killed with the damned thing."

"Hell, Dominguez," Riggs shook his head, "Zykowski thinks that everyone is out to get him, it's not just you. You should have seen the looks that he gave me after that incident."

"Well, I still say he should have known better than to be in the testing field when you had live ammunition," Dominguez said, before changing the subject. "So, I happen to notice that you are sitting in a perfectly good cart, and I appear to be in need of a ride to the Mess Hall. Are you headed my way?"

"Crap," Riggs muttered. "Actually, I should already be on my way over to the Admin building at the other end of the base. Doctor Hamlin told me that I need to report to Colonel Tanner as soon as possible...

"How about this, I usually try to avoid the Hub when it's this time of day when I need to get anywhere, but my conscience will not allow me to leave you high and dry. Hop on in, I'll drop you off, and hopefully be able to fight my way through the traffic so that I don't have to leave the Colonel waiting for too long."

"Oh goody," Dominguez said, walking around to the passenger side of the cart. "I knew you would see things my way!"

As the tall woman sat down in the front passenger seat of the cart, the frame of the vehicle tilted slightly to the side as her weight settled. Although nobody in their right mind could consider the woman fat, even behind her back, there was a definite presence to her that could not be denied. Despite the dense muscle packed into her frame, she was a very attractive woman with curves in all the right places, just grown to a larger model scale.

Chuckling at his friend's antics, Riggs finally started their cart, the electric hum of the engines barely audible beneath the gentle mid-day breeze that swept across the Mojave Desert. With a slight hesitant jerk, the cart pulled out of the parking spot and followed behind the ant line of matching carts that were winding their way towards the Mess Hall at the center of the Base, knobby tires gripping the pavement.

It was amazing to Riggs that, despite the discovery that they had just made at this very base, people were still going along with their everyday business, and following the same routines. In fact, the only reason that Riggs' own schedule had changed at all after the fact was because Doctor Hamlin had managed to commandeer the young First Lieutenant for some final testing over in the Lunar Simulation.

Earlier that day they had finished packing up the final production model of the first Armstrong Habitat that was going to be used on the Constellation mission at the end of the following week. It was odd in a way to finally see the Habitat packed up for shipping, as it had been a part of his life for the past several months as he helped stress test the different systems that went into it.

Honestly, the less said about the initial problems with the water reclamation system, the better. Some things did not bear remembering, let alone reminiscing about.

Riggs had to pay more attention to the traffic as they neared the center of the base where the Mess Hall and Recreation building were located, often called 'The Hub' by those who lived on base. Although it would take a few minutes to reach his friend's destination, the number of electric carts humming around on their knobby tires had increased to the point that the absent minded courted an accident.

"So, do you have any idea what the XO wants you for?" Dominguez asked her unusually quiet friend.

"Not really," Riggs told her, keeping his eyes on the road. "The Doctor didn't give any indication as to what it might be about, so all I can do is make a few WAGs."

"Well, that's better than nothing," Dominguez chuckled. "So, what kind of 'wild ass guesses' do you have?"

"Ah, well," the sandy-haired man stumbled. "If I had to hazard a guess, it probably has something to do with what we found on Sunday. Maybe another debriefing on what I saw, who knows."

"Or maybe," Dominguez wondered, "they have decided that they really do need you in the air, and that General made the wrong decision when he had you pulled out of the cockpit."

Riggs snorted.

"Not likely," he replied. "I've had to resign myself to the fact that the only way that they are going to let me into anything flying at this point is as a passenger. No, the closest I get to piloting anything at this point is in the Lunar Lander flight simulator that Doctor Hamlin has tucked into the back of his lab."

"And don't think I don't notice how much time you spend in that thing, either," the Hispanic Amazon told him, shaking a finger in his direction. "I swear, with all the time that you spend over in the Command Center with Stevenson, as well as working with the Doctor, it's amazing that you get any sleep done with the amount of extra time you then spend in that tin can."

"Hey, now, I won't stand for someone insulting Blue Bess," Riggs said, defending the Lunar Lander flight simulator. "That thing is the same exact model that they use over at Kennedy to train Captain Howell for a real life Moon landing with the ARES II. If it's good enough for real astronauts, it's good enough for me."

"Calm down there," she chuckled, raising her hands in defense. "I'm just saying that there has to be time for sleep too. Besides, Stevenson hasn't gotten to see much of you outside of work the past few days, and she's getting worried that it's something she said. Personally, I think she's worried that you think she was showing you up with her skills with the EM-Dar."

"That's crazy," he said, rolling his eyes from behind his mirrored aviators. "We both know that she is better with the EM-Dar than I am. My skill lies in information gathering and collaboration. She's better at calibration, while I'm better at troubleshooting and repair. We're a good team, it's not some kind of competition."

"Well, you might want to remind her of that the next time you talk," Dominguez told him, watching out for the feelings of their mutual friend.

Nodding to himself, the sandy-haired young man admitted that she was probably right. The next words that would have come out of his mouth died as he noticed that they were almost on top of the Mess Hall, the parking lot over-full with empty electric carts like a cattle rustle gone bad. Pulling up as close as he could to the front entrance of the building, he came to a gentle stop and turned to face his passenger.

"Here we are," he told the tall woman. "Say hi to Stevenson for me, will ya?"

"Sure thing," she replied, stepping up and out of the cart, then leaning back down with her hands on the edge of the canopy. "Remember what I said, okay?"

"I will, don't worry," Riggs assured her. "Now, if you don't mind, I am still needed over in the Colonel's office."

"Don't let me keep you, then," Dominguez told him. "And if you have enough time, come and join us for lunch. I think it's 'Meatloaf Surprise' today. You know, where the surprise is whether or not it's actually meat."

Shaking his head at his friend's antics, Riggs waved her off, and engaged the engine again to head his way from the Mess Hall to the Administration building at the other far side of the base. Weaving around several electric carts that were still arriving, filled full with airmen and civilians alike, he fought his way out of the Hub and along the short spur that led towards the western side of the base.

* * *

**Lunar Outlook AFB, Administration - Wednesday, Nov 5, 2025 - Mid Day**

Although the drive seemed longer without companionship, it was actually a much shorter distance from the Administration building to the Mess Hall than it was from the Mess to the Lunar Simulation. In a very short amount of time, the building swam into view as he rounded a corner around the Northern wing of the Recreation facility.

Lunar Outlook ABF Administration was a large mass of tan concrete, sitting two stories above the arid desert floor with tall, narrow windows spaced along its sides reminiscent of the arrow slits in old medieval fortresses. The building itself was in the shape of a large hexagon with an inner courtyard that managed to stay at least half in the shade during most of the day. Large halogen lamps sat along the top edges of the building awaiting nightfall, and large spotlights hung on their mounts at the corners.

Driving up to the building, Riggs spotted an empty parking spot about thirty feet from the main entrance. Smoothly pulling into the spot, he engaged the breaks, and killed the motor. When the ever present hum of the electric engine died out, Riggs became even more aware of the quiet that hid beneath the sound of the desert wind.

Climbing out of the bucket seat of the electric cart, and making his way towards the main entrance, he was startled as a large black shadow swept across his path. The loud croak of a raven called down from above, making him look up at the edge of the roof of the Administration building. Dark brown-black eyes stared down at him as the pitch black bird watched him from the concrete ledge, shadowed by one of the spotlights.

When the raven shifted, his trained eyes spotted the half-circle of white feathers on the shoulders of its wings, instantly identifying this as one of the mated pair of ravens that called the base home. Stevenson had called them Hugin and Munin, Thought and Memory, after the ravens of who reported to Odin about the state of the nine worlds.

The petite Second Lieutenant had thought it a good omen that they had them watching over the base, and had told him that it gave them luck. He was just glad that last spring's fledglings had already left the nest, as the young birds had not been nearly as charming of mascots as their parents had turned out to be.

You couldn't argue with results, really, as their luck had held firm last Sunday when they had discovered the crashed alien ship on the moon by sheer chance. If they had not developed the EM-Dar, and mounted the Gravimetric sensors on the Lunar Ghost II probe, he had no idea how many years, or decades, it would have taken them to find the crash.

If they ever did.

Nodding thanks to Hugin, Riggs made his way over to the large double doors that stood as the main entrance to the Administration building. Unlike the Command Center, which had a coded keypad linked with an ID scanner, the entrance to the Administration building was guarded by two armed airmen standing watch from just inside the entrance. Removing his aviator glasses and tucking them safely back into his breast pocket, the First Lieutenant walked the last few steps towards the door.

When he opened the door, he was greeted by the unsmiling faces of those two enlisted men dressed in full tactical vests, pistols at their sides. Removing his ID badge from the clip it hung from on the flap of his pocket, he displayed the multi colored plastic to the nearest guard. With practiced ease, the guard removed a small tablet PC from a sleeve on his tactical vest and held the high definition camera first towards the badge, then towards the First Lieutenant's face.

Proprietary face recognition software compared the face on the badge, as well as the face of the man presenting it, with a database system that stored records of everyone allowed into the Administration building. Giving a cheerful ding as a positive match came back from the servers, the small hand held computer sent a signal that allowed the second door to open with a clunk as the magnetic locks disengaged.

Walking into the no hat no salute building, Riggs took an immediate right at the first intersection and headed towards the Colonel's office, which sat at the corner just counter-clockwise of the main entrance. Unlike the beige tan color of the building's exterior, the inside of the building itself was painted a pale eggshell white, with colored chevron lines showing the way to the different areas of interest inside. Having been in meetings with the Colonel before, Riggs already knew where to go, even though his eyes did instinctively glance at the red line that indicated his path.

As he reached the outer door to the base commander's office, Riggs fought off a sudden spike of anxiety that twisted its way through his guts. Running through his head was the thought that somehow he had done something wrong, and was being called to task. Fighting off the disquieting thought, and reassuring himself that if he had done something wrong they would have sent the MPs instead of a message, he reached out and opened the door.

Sitting behind a solid looking Maplewood desk in the outer office was Major Trujillo, the Base Commander's administrative assistant. Momentarily ignoring the intrusion into his domain, the Major finished typing the next few lines on the report he was working on at his computer screen before acknowledging the First Lieutenant's presence.

"First Lieutenant Simon Riggs, reporting to Colonel Tanner as ordered, Sir," Riggs stated, saluting the Major.

"At ease, Lieutenant," Trujillo ordered, returning the salute and then reaching over to hit the button on his desk phone. "Colonel Tanner, sir?"

"Tanner here," the other man's voice came from the speaker. "What is it, Major?"

"First Lieutenant Riggs has arrived," the Major advised his superior officer.

"Send him in," Tanner ordered, the line clicking as it disconnected.

"Go on in, the Colonel is waiting," Trujillo said, nodding to Riggs, then going back to his report.

"Right," Riggs nodded, walking over to the Colonel's closed office door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own any of the series used in the production of this fanfiction. I would list the things that I do not own, but I would prefer to keep the number of spoilers down if at all possible. Suffice it to say that not all of the materials used will be actual full crossovers, but you will likely recognize materials and concepts from a varied grouping of science fiction sources.

**Author's Note:**

There will be mentions of the Ásatrú religion in this work of fiction. While I myself to not hold firm to any one single church, I was always fascinated by the Norse gods while growing up, having Viking ancestry on both sides of my family.

While I do not hold myself to be part of the Ásatrú Alliance, their religion seemed like it would fit well in the overall storyline of this series. Do not worry, this will not come across as me trying to 'convert' anyone to Ásatrú.

This chapter will be a bit long again, because it goes a bit more in depth about a few of the characters, setting motivation for the future. Since we are still in the first few chapters, and getting to know these people better, there will be several references to their pasts early on.

Also, I am aware that Air Force Officer Training School currently takes place at Maxwell AFB... in my story, they now do this training at Sheppard AFB as well.

* * *

**Magnum Opus**

**Book One: Exodus**

**Chapter 3**

* * *

**Lunar Outlook AFB, Administration - Wednesday, Nov 5, 2025 - Mid Day**

Sitting behind his large wooden desk, Colonel James Tanner was busy writing a report to his superiors regarding the current state of the base personnel, fingers busy at the keyboard.

Ever since they had discovered what reports were calling the 'Anomaly', an alien shipwreck near the south pole of the Moon, the entire base had been put on lockdown. While everyone on base had known that they were going to be rather isolated from regular physical contact with the outside world, they had become used to regular emails and voice chat, as well as care packages from their families and friends. There were only rumblings as of yet, the men and women on base would soon become restless without regular contact with the outside world.

Hearing a knock at his office door, he saved the report he had been working on, and turned his chair to face the sound. Once the face recognition software realized that he was no longer looking at the screen, it automatically locked his workstation, throwing up an official screensaver showing the still image of the United States Air Force logo.

When the door opened, a nervous Simon Riggs was revealed entering the room, his sandy hair still slightly damp from the shower despite his drive across the base to get there. According to his service records, the young man stood at five feet eight inches, but the narrow frame of his body made him seem almost taller than he actually was.

Although a little shy of the average height in this age of advanced medicine and nutritional science, it was easy to imagine that few would take liberties with him due to his stature. His uniform was filled out with lean muscles which, when combined with his regularly laid back manners, reminded the Colonel of a resting panther.

His file also mentioned the fact that he had a highly developed sense of kinesthesia, an innate awareness of the world around you, and how you fit into your surroundings at any given moment. This was a trait that could not be easily taught, and lucky few were naturally born with. When combined with his sharp eyesight, and keen attention to detail, the young man was perfect fighter pilot material.

When Tanner had assumed command of the Lunar Ghost project, and with it this base, he had been allowed some small amount of leeway when it came to choosing the officers that would be working on his staff. After reviewing the candidates at length, he had made a special point of adding both First Lieutenant Simon Riggs, as well as Second Lieutenant Elizabeth Stevenson, to his core staff for the Command Center.

One of the reasons he had chosen Riggs specifically was that at one time there had been a better than good chance that he would have ended up with the him as a rookie pilot in his wing straight out of training. He even had a chance to sit back seat in an F-15 Active as the young man put it through its paces, impressing Tanner with his instinctual control.

After that first flight, he took every chance he could get during the few days he was on base at Sheppard AFB as a guest instructor to be up in the air with him.

Sadly, they never did end up flying in combat together, as a week later General Greenwode had gone on a tour of the training facility. While observing one of the classes there he had been impressed with Riggs' skills at reading the data coming from the numerous sensors that were now standard to the more modern fighter jets.

After the class, the General had asked some rather pointed questions of the teachers there, followed up by reading the relatively thin file they had on the new recruit. By all of their reports, his skills with even some of the sub standard sensors on the older model planes was downright uncanny.

Upon seeing the test results, and listening to the reports from everyone that had worked with the young man, the General had him pulled from pilot training immediately. Within a few short days, Riggs had gone from being an up and coming hotshot pilot, to being the head of class in the sensor technician training facility instead.

Tanner saw great potential in him not only as an Officer, but also as a valuable asset to the nation. Even though he might not be a genius like Doctor Hamlin, he possessed an impressive work ethic, and an innate understanding of technology that often made the Colonel green with envy. While wars might be fought with men, bullets, and rations, proper intelligence had been the key to victory since the dawn of mankind.

With the speed of thought, he drove along memory lane and came back out the other side just as Riggs came to a stop within two steps of his desk, raising his hands in a crisp salute.

"Sir, First Lieutenant Riggs reporting."

"At ease, Lieutenant," Tanner said, returning the salute. "Take a seat."

"Yes, Sir," he replied, sitting in the straight backed chair offered to him.

Pretending not to notice the younger man wiping the palms of his hands against his uniform pants to rid them of their stress sweat, the Colonel took a moment to chose his next words carefully. Although Riggs didn't know it yet, his entire future was about to change.

"Riggs?"

"Yes, sir?"

"The next part of this conversation is going to be informal," Tanner told him. "Not a conversation between you and your Commander, or between two officers, just man to man, understand?

Nodding in agreement, Riggs wondered what in the hell was going on, and just how deep the rabbit hole was going to go. Originally assuming that this conversation was about the discovery they had made three days previously, he was now beginning to doubt that was the case.

Especially with how unusual the Colonel was acting.

"I know you didn't sign up to be a sensor tech," Tanner said after a moment of silence. "Hell, we both remember when I flew with you back at Sheppard when you were in training there. You had all the makings of a real ace in you, one of those rare natural pilots."

Riggs nodded in agreement, trying to swallow his nervousness with a suddenly dry mouth, and unconsciously ran his hands along his uniform pants again.

I can only imagine what it felt like when General Greenwode had you pulled from the class and reassigned to the Technician course," he continued, aiming a measuring gaze at the First Lieutenant. "You want to know something, Riggs?"

"What, Sir?"

"Even with as good a pilot as you were, and believe me I know talent when I see it, you make one hell of a Sensor Technician," he told him, leaking forward with his forearms on his desk. "Dammit, son, if it hadn't been for you and Stevenson, it might have taken us years to find something. With the two of you here, not only did it not take years, it just took a few months. And we both know what we found, right?"

"Yes, Sir," Riggs nodded. "I know what we found."

"I know you do," the Colonel stated, leaning back in his chair to study the young officer with calculating eyes. "Despite all that, you still want to be up in the air again, don't you."

This was more a statement of fact, than a question.

"More than anything," he responded, sitting taller in his chair. "Well, nearly anything, Sir."

"You might just get that chance," Tanner told him, picking up the official orders that had laid unnoticed on the corner of his desk. "Probably not the way you ever imagined, though."

Stretching his arm out, he placed the orders on the desk in front of the confused First Lieutenant.

With a slightly shaking hand, Riggs picked up the paper, his moss green eyes darting back and forth as he read the official document. Confusion warred with amazement on his face as he realized that what he was now holding in his hands were orders for his immediate reassignment to NASA and the 45th Space Wing, headquartered over in Florida at Kennedy Space Center. Taking a moment to look up at the Colonel in shocked amazement, he quickly turned his attention back to reading.

Once having a childhood dream of going into space, as a teenager he had resigned himself to the fact that the closest he was ever likely to get was flying at high altitude in a jet. Everything from that point onwards was planned to help him get into the pilots seat, as he graduated college at the top of his class, then took four years of classes at Berkley to improve his odds of getting into that rare elite. Since flying for the Air Force had the best chance of getting him up there as much as possible, he had signed up mere days after graduating from College.

After a decade of careful planning, his life's dream had been forcibly derailed by the unknowing actions of an Air Force General, who decided that he was too good to rick in a jet when the Military could make better use of him elsewhere. Having ultimately failed at attaining his dream, he had still made the best of what he did have, and made a few good friends along the way.

He had never expected something like this to happen after all that had happened.

What made his new orders to unbelievable was the single fact that not only was he now assigned to the NASA Headquarters, but he had been specifically assigned to the ARES II rocket as the Lunar Lander pilot. That meant that he was going to be going into space with the explicit mission of landing on the Moon as part of the Constellation I mission.

That same mission also had the secret assignment of going to, and exploring, a real life crashed alien spaceship.

Suddenly it felt somehow wrong to him for a lowly First Lieutenant, who had never even stepped foot on the grounds of Kennedy Space Center, to come swooping in to replace a man who had been on the project for years. Having kept up on the space program, he knew that Captain Philip Howell had been assigned to the position he was taking over, a man who had been to space numerous times and had been trained specifically for this mission.

For all intents and purposes, they were breaking up a proven team to put him there instead.

"This can't be right, Colonel," Riggs argued. "How do they expect me to replace a fully trained astronaut who had been to space dozens of times, especially on a mission this critical? I haven't even gone there to do any of their training, and the launch is in ten days!"

"What do you think Doctor Hamlin has been having you do in all your free time the last few days?" Tanner asked him. "How about the months leading up to now? Don't you understand that he has already been putting you through most of the exact same training that the astronauts get over at Kennedy?

"Hell, at this point you probably have more actual hands on experience you have with the equipment they will be using on this mission, you might even have a leg up on them. After all, there is no better way to learn how to use a tool, than to find out how it can be broken so that you know what not to do, in my opinion."

Even though he looked like he wanted to argue with him, Riggs sat still and heard his commanding officer out. Despite his misgivings, he did understand that he had spent a lot of time working hard over in the Simulation ever since the first day he at arrived on base. In hindsight, he should have realized that a lot of the 'Tests' that Doctor Hamlin had him go through were barely veiled training courses.

"Something else that I think you should know is that I went in and compared your scores on the Lunar Lander flight simulator," Tanner continued. "I thought you might find it interesting that not only do you blow right past the requirements of the test, you actually outscore the man you are heading off to replace.

"While Captain Howell might have more experience in a fighter jet, piloting the Lunar Lander requires a slightly different skill set. When landing on a ridge overlooking a crater three times deeper than the Grand Canton, with poor visibility, you have to rely on your sensors more than anything.

"As I said before, you were a good pilot, and you make one hell of a sensors technician, and that is exactly what they need here."

After a few brief moments of silence, Tanner contemplated telling him about what he had found out when he had looked up why they were replacing the original astronaut. Although he was not able to find any information as to why Howell had been pulled from the mission, he was able to find the seek and detain orders passed through OSI due to his high levels of clearance.

Deciding to give a bit of non-classified information to the First Lieutenant, he reached out a hand and spun his empty coffee cup around its base a few times. The calming sound of the ceramic filled the empty room before he stopped, opening his mouth to speak again.

"In all honesty, if nothing had happened to the man you're replacing, Captain Howell would still be the one flying this mission, in spite of your obvious skills," Tanner told him. "Doctor Hamlin never told you that he has been grooming you as a potential backup Lander pilot from the beginning, as part of the work he had you doing testing the equipment for the mission. You were never told anything about it, because the odds of them needing a replacement were slim.

"Hell, the Doctor didn't even tell me his plans for you until Saturday, but even then I had suspicions beforehand. I never mentioned anything to you myself because I didn't want to get your hopes up in case the chance never arose. But something has happened, and for some reason Captain Howell will not be available for this mission.

"But you are."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Riggs thought about what the Colonel had just told him. Considering that the Doctor himself believed that he had the skills needed for the mission, and had apparently been able to convince NASA of this as well, he had little room to argue with those who really should know better than he did. After all, if they all thought he had the skills needed to get them safely on the moon, and from there help with scouting the Anomaly, who was he to argue?

One thing he was certain of, though. Even if they all thought that he had the skills, he wasn't willing to go into space unless he was able to convince himself as well.

Once he got to Kennedy Space Center, he was going to work his ass off to make sure that he met the grade. This mission was too important, not only to the nation, but also to the future of Humanity, to give anything less than his absolute best.

"Sometimes things happen for a reason," Tanner continued, seeing that he was coming around. "It is often up to us mere mortals to recognize that reason when it's staring us in the face. You must know when to reach out and grab those opportunities, lest they escape your grasp forever."

"I understand, Sir," Riggs nodded, agreeing with him. "Even though this is sudden, and very unexpected, if I don't take this chance to go up there... If I don't go, I will always wonder what it would have been like if I did. I don't want to live the rest of my life thinking 'what if'."

"Good man," Tanner smiled. "There is an Osprey waiting for you over in my airfield right now, eating up my fuel supply as we speak. You had better believe that I will be mighty disappointed with you if that plane had to leave without you in it, considering that they flew all this way just to deliver that piece of paper with your name on it.

"What I want you to do is go over to Residential, pack everything important up in your bag, and report to that bird ASAP, understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Riggs replied, standing up quickly from his chair and firing off a sharp salute to his, now former, commanding officer.

"One last thing before I dismiss you, Riggs," the Colonel said, grinning at the younger officer's obvious excitement. "Have fun in space, and stay safe!"

"Will do, Sir!"

"Dis-missed!" Tanner snapped, returning the parting salute.

Riggs nearly stumbled over his own two feet as he crossed the short distance to the door, the orders still held firmly in his hand. Quickly opening the door, and taking a moment to stop and apologize to Major Trujillo for startling him with his sudden exit, he made his way out of the office. Listening to the fading thunder of the First Lieutenant's boots as rounded the corner and made his way out of the building, the still grinning Tanner shook his head in amusement.

It was amazing to think that the young man had gone from being removed from pilot training, to one of the most exclusive assignments in the world.

* * *

**Lunar Outlook AFB, Mess Hall - Wednesday, Nov 5, 2025 - Mid Day**

Second Lieutenant Elizabeth Stevenson shuffled her boots as the slow moving line moved another few feet, the men and women on either side of her waiting just like her to be served by the surly Mess Hall attendants.

Acoustic tiles in the ceiling tried their best to muffle the constant roar of noise that filled the heavily packed cafeteria room. Nothing short of noise dampening foam could have handled the volume of the lunch rush though, as the petite young woman stood in the middle of the press of humanity.

Straining to stretch herself taller with four foot ten and a half inch tall frame, she peered past the shoulder of the airman in line before her, trying to catch a glimpse of the culinary fate that awaited her. Flinching in irritation when she saw the serving lady place a brownish lump onto another unfortunate soul's plate, followed by a spoonful of what was supposed to be potatoes, which better resembled a salty pudding its namesake.

With a sigh of resignation, she slumped back down, flinching as the bright overhead lighting reflected off her metal meal tray into her eyes. Looking back up at the desert camouflage that covered the back of the man leading her towards her fate, she shuffled forward as the line moved again, barely bothering to lift her boots from the floor.

Soon enough her own tray was loaded down with what the kitchen staff called 'meatloaf', and she was heading on her way towards the drinks to grab something to try to wash the taste down with. It always surprised her that they managed to get the smell of meatloaf down perfectly, but somehow created a lump of foodstuff that failed all other criteria.

Looking over the drink selection, and ignoring the impatient huff of a scientist behind her as she held up the line, she finally settled for orange juice. Not only did she like the taste, but it tended to be best at washing down the greasy taste of the meal she was about to suffer through. After filling up one of the empty cups, taking a moment to secure a lid and grab a straw, she looked around the crowded cafeteria, bright green eyes searching for an empty table in the lunchtime chaos.

Eventually spotting an empty patch of table on the far side of the room near the main entrance, she carefully made her way across the room. Due to her short height and petite build, it wasn't uncommon for someone to walk right into her without even noticing that she was down there. A few of the less scrupulous men on base had tried to take advantage of this fact, but had backed off eventually when they realized that she had fully functional knees and a skill at gifting cup shots that looked convincingly accidental to any witnesses.

Being as small as she was had made Basic Officer Training particularly hostile when the other people in her Flight immediately assumed that she would hold them back during the initial physical training. Fortunately she had been going on long hikes with her father ever since she was a teenager, so she had been used to most of what they were doing anyways.

Unfortunately things had not gotten any better for her when they saw the small golden Thor's Hammer hanging around her neck and found out that she was Ásatrú, a follower of the Aesir of ancient Norse tradition. With as small of a following as it had around the world, having only just begun to regain a following, many people did not understand her beliefs, and people tended to react poorly to the unknown.

Due to her experience in those first five weeks she had taken a rather pragmatic hit first and hit hard attitude to anyone that tried to take advantage of her, and had a hard time finding friends. Fortunately, there were two major exceptions to her regular track record of friendlessness.

While she would admit to herself that Simon Riggs was by far her best friend, the two of them had ended up sort of adopting Rosa Dominguez into their small circle. Nonplussed by her own defensive posture to the world, their tall engineer friend had quickly become a regular fixture in their free time within a few days of them meeting on base.

Noticing her friend already sitting at the table that she had spotted from across the room, her dark red haired head poking up above everyone around her, Stevenson wondered how in the world she had missed seeing her there. As usual there were a couple seats empty on either side of the Amazonian woman, bringing a small grin to her own freckled face as she walked up and took the seat opposite her friend.

"Hey there, short stuff," Dominguez joked, handing over the salt and pepper shakers to her with a large, tan skinned hand.

"Hey yourself," she replied, eyeing the half empty bottle of Tabasco on her friend's tray, and the suspiciously red looking half eaten meatloaf sitting next to it. "I see you didn't want to taste your food again today. It's amazing you don't have an ulcer yet with all the Tabasco sauce you take in."

Yeah, well, that is kind of the idea, Liz," her friend said, grinning as she watched her doctor her own food. "I have the distinct impression that it might have been better if I could have avoided eating it at all, but unlike you I can't go around skipping meals and eating like a bird. It takes a lot of fuel to keep this furnace running."

Patting herself on her washboard abs, the Hispanic woman went back to her meal, spearing a piece of the meatloaf and using it to scoop up a mouthful of mashed potato to go with it. Stevenson knew the she wasn't entirely joking about needing more to eat, as she could only imagine having to keep a body like that fed.

Towering over her own height by nineteen and a half inches, the much shorter airman wondered how her friend was able to walk through a door without ducking, let alone how she was able to do all that delicate engineering work with hands so large. If anything though, she had noticed that the other woman had a strange grace to her as she moved through the world, taking care not to run into or break something.

There was a good reason for the empty seats currently surrounding them though, as recently there had been an incident where one of the enlisted men on base had managed to get his hands on some alcohol and made a drunken advance on her. Rage had filled her as he made allusions to red haired women only being good for one thing, and only the longer reach of her fellow red-haired friend allowed her to grab a hold of the man first.

Apologizing for his actions once he had a chance to sober up, the man had not pressed any charges on Dominguez for the thrashing she had given him, later doing his best to avoid the both of them. Since rumors did not take long to spread in the limited community, everyone had known about what had happened the night before by the time they had been called out to muster.

Command Chief Master Sergeant Werner Koertig had given a long lecture outside beneath the hot sun to all of the enlisted men and women about the regulations against alcohol consumption on base, never mentioning any names. Of course, everyone could see the bruised face of the recently beaten man standing front and center.

Enjoying the elbow room for the time being, a relative silence settled around them as they dug into their meals. After the first few, admittedly small bites, she decided that just the right amount of pepper had been added, and grabbed the salt shaker again to finish the mercy killing of her taste buds.

After a short wait, two more people finally joined their part of the table, setting their trays down to the right of her engineer friend. Both of them were wearing dusty BDUs that sported a few non-regulation stains, and she quickly recognized them as two of the aircraft mechanics who were usually stuck with duty posts over at the airfield refueling the planes. With the base on lockdown the last few days, they probably hadn't had much to do over there, and they seemed to be in rather high spirits for having spent hours outside in the desert.

"I keep telling you, something screwy is going on," the first man told his friend before taking a large drink of water.

"Look, just because a plane landed outside of schedule, when no planes are supposed to land for another two days, doesn't mean it's a conspiracy," the second man shot back.

"You're ignoring the fact that the planes that they send here are always C-130 Hercules," the first man said with a smug look on his face, having scored a point. "This plane is an Osprey, which they never use for cargo here as it's too small to be worth it. Not only that, but they only let us close enough to hook up the fuel lines, then just sat there with the motors running."

"Okay, yeah, fine," the second man conceded. "You have a point there. Not to mention the two armed guards standing with the ramp down at the back. Hell, the pilots didn't even leave for a piss break, and they had been out there for at least an hour before we left for lunch."

"You'll notice that they did let someone get closer than us, though," the first man added. "Didn't you see Major Trujillo show up after they landed, then go running off like a fire was lit under him?"

"After being handed an envelope by one of the guards, yeah," the second man nodded.

Having both come to an agreement, the conversation between the two mechanics drifted off to other subjects as they tried to keep their jaws moving with something other than their supposed meatloaf. Still, there was something about what they had just overheard that stuck sideways in the women's heads, as no planes should have landed at all due to the lockdown.

Frowning in concentration, Dominguez contemplated what they had just learned.

During her time on base she had come to understand that whenever anything out of the ordinary occurred, things usually escalated quickly from there. With the discovery a few days ago, followed by the lockdown of the base, things were already highly unstable. Adding on the mystery surrounding the plane over in the airfield and the unknown message it had carried onto the base, she would just have to brace herself for what was going to befall them next.

A sudden thought occurred, and she looked up from her almost empty tray and locked her gray-green eyes on her friend.

"I wonder if that plane has anything to do with Riggs being ordered to report to the Base Commander?" she wondered aloud, causing her short friend to look up from her own meal with a confused look on her freckled face.

"What was that?" Stevenson asked.

"That's why he isn't here eating with us right now," Dominguez told her. "Doctor Hamlin apparently passed the order for him to report to the Colonel immediately just as we were finishing up the morning tests. I only found out about it when I asked to hitch a ride with him to get here. At least he was gentleman enough to drop me off on his way over to Admin."

Busy taking a drink of her orange juice to remove the greasy sensation from her tongue, Stevenson almost choked when she heard her friend's words. Looking as if she had just been struck by lightning, green eyes wide in sudden realization, she put her cup back on her tray and quickly stood up from her seat.

"Bollocks," the petite airman cursed, eyes darting over to the nearby exit. "I've got to go."

"Sure thing," Dominguez nodded, smirking at the Britishism that had slipped from her friend. "Want me to keep your food safe while you're gone, or can I eat it instead?"

"Help yourself," she replied. "Can you put my tray away when you leave?"

"Will do."

"Thanks, see you later!"

* * *

Moments after rushing out of the Mess Hall, Stevenson flinched in sudden pain as the noontime light of the desert sun did its best to blind her. Blinking her eyes to help them adjust, she began hunting for an electric cart near the outside of the mess of parked vehicles, trying to find one that wasn't blocked in. By the time she spotted a likely candidate, her eyes had already adjusted, and she spent a few moments thinking about getting a pair of sunglasses like Riggs had.

Jogging over to the unattended vehicle, she quickly sat down in the driver's seat, thumb jamming the ignition button more on instinct than conscious thought. Once the engine started with a muted hum, she threw the cart in reverse and backed it in a tight turn to point its nose towards the road that headed off towards Residential. Her meal was all but forgotten as she drove along the dusty road, nothing more than a vague memory and a slightly queasy feeling deep in her stomach that matched the worry buried there with it.

Ever since last night, she had been feeling as if something was going to happen today, and now she was sure that her friend was stuck in the middle of it all. If there was one thing that she had learned best from the Gyðja (priestess) that headed the Ásatrú Kindred where she grew up in England, it was to pay attention to her instincts.

She had to swerve her cart to the side, knobby tires digging into the hard packed ground on the shoulder of the road for a brief moment as a reckless driver passed her going the opposite direction, intent on their own destination. She swore an oath under her breath, then hoped that she would get there in time to catch Riggs before he left.

If she was right, then the plane sitting over in the airfield was waiting to take him away from this place, and away from her. There was no way in Freyja's name she was going to let him get away that easy, as she had a few things that she needed to tell her stubborn friend before he had a chance to leave her behind.

Suddenly the tall concrete mass of the Residential Building was looming before her, dominating it's patch of dry desert floor. Looking like a six sided star when viewed from the air, the straight lines of its architecture seemed harsh beneath the bright sun overhead.

Built to hold both the Enlisted and Officers assigned to the Lunar Outlook Air Force Base, the two story building was even larger than the Administration Building off to the Southwest of it. Looking at both buildings it was obvious that the same architect drew up the plans for both, the tall narrow windows reminding one of the arrow slits on an old castle, and reinforcing the fort-like appearance of both facilities.

Due to the fact that the building was arranged with all of the men living on the first floor, while the women had their rooms up on the second, the Residential building was jokingly called Hotel Sixty-Nine by most of the men on base. Come to think of it, several of the woman also called it that. Nobody ever called it that in official reports, of course, but when you gather a large group of people, most of them in their twenties, and have them live together in an isolated location like this...

Since most of the staff were either still on duty or off eating lunch, the parking area in front of the building was almost empty, allowing her to grab a spot almost right on top of the main entrance. Pulling up to a quick stop, she pulled the emergency break lever in instinct before hitting the kill switch for the engine, and got out of the electric cart.

Startled by the sound of flapping wings and the click of claws on thin metal, her bright green eyes darted over to see a black feathered shape now standing on the roof of the vehicle she had just gotten out of. Familiar with the mated pair of ravens on base, she noticed the lack of markings on the bird's shoulders, and remembered that this was the female one she had called Muninn.

Their eyes met across the short distance for a brief moment, the intelligence behind the Raven's eyes causing a tingle to pass over her body as the ancient Norse blood of her ancestors sang in the presence of their favored symbol. Seeming to nod its beak at her, the Raven looked off towards the nearby building, the blue black feathers on her head and throat standing up for a moment as she gave a deep throaty call.

Overhead another dark feathered form flew past, wings spread wide to catch the thermals above the base, as Huginn made his way off to the Southwest. With a burst of sound and another throaty call, Muninn joined him in the air as they flew together to their nest on top of the Administration Building, the sound of their voices echoing in the wind.

Taking this as a sign that the raven-god Odin was watching over her, she made her way into the building. A few latecomers brushed past her as she walked into the main entrance and out of the harsh sun, one of them already absconding with the cart she had just parked there.

Taking up both stories on the front of the building, the entrance hall held a flight of stairs leading upwards, as well as a set of double doors that opened up into a wide hallway that branched out to the numerous rooms that the men all lived in. With the echoing sound of her combat boots tapping against the waxed linoleum floors, she passed by the wide set of stairs that would have led her to the upper landing of the large entrance hall, and on the way to her own room, and instead walked through those heavy doors.

Since it was currently between the hours of oh ten hundred and eighteen hundred, there were no rules prohibiting women from entering the man's hallway, so long as they left the door wide open on any room that they walked into. She herself had never had the chance to test that rule, as the much more important Uniform Code of Conduct prevented her from having the one man on base she would like to be alone with in a closed room.

Taking the first branch to the right off of the main hallway, she spotted the open door to Riggs' room nearby, the sound of frantic packing easy to hear in the otherwise quiet building. At once both relieved that she had managed to get there in time, and grateful that her instincts had again led her right, she made her way towards his open door.

A sudden case of nerves cropped up again as the nagging voice of doubt made her wonder if he was packing because he was in trouble, and was being carted off. Silencing that though, she reminded herself that if he was in that sort of trouble, there would be two armed MPs outside his door. She had seen it happen before, but it was obviously not the case here, since she was alone in the hall.

Right before she reached his open door, the sounds of frantic packing subsided, leaving an odd silence in its place. Taking the final few steps she finally caught sight of her friend and superior officer, noticing him standing still in the middle of his hastily packed room.

His desert camo tank bag lay open on his bed, full to almost bursting with as much of his belongings as he could possibly fit in the combination duffel backpack. She had barely caught him in time before he had finished packing, as he only had one thing left to put into his bag.

Held in his hands was a durable metal picture frame containing a photograph showing two slightly younger versions of the two of them standing before the mass of a Chinook helicopter. One of the girls she had gone to Officer Training with had taken the picture to commemorate her first mission and emailed it to her later. In the picture they were both smiling, hands raised to put bunny ears behind each other's heads.

The picture had been taken a couple of years earlier, well before they had both been assigned to the Lunar Ghost project, and she had a matching copy of it up in her room sitting on her desk. When it was taken they had both been First Lieutenants assigned to different units, and only sheer chance, or the work of the Norns, had brought them into each other's company that day.

Both of them had been called in as the best sensors technicians that were available in the region for a joint mission to repair one of the missile defense platforms stationed near enemy lines. When that platform had malfunctioned, it opened a potential hole in their defenses that would allow the enemy to hammer their forward bases if left unchecked.

While it had been Stevenson's first field assignment, Riggs himself had been on several missions like it before, and his calm presence helped ease her nerves the moment they had met. She could still remember how nervous she felt that day, having gone directly from Oxford University in England to the United States Air Force, and graduating at the top of her class less than a month earlier.

Having dual citizenship both in the United Kingdom and the United States, she could have just as easily joined the ranks of the RAF. However, after losing her father while she was still in University, she had made the decision that she wanted to go somewhere new. It had been a difficult time for her, as her father had ended up raising her on his own after her American born mother had died while in deployment herself.

While talking to each other during the long trip from the forward base to the missile defense platform that needed repair, they had realized that they had both graduated from the same training facility of Sheppard AFB in Northern Texas. This was unusual, as most of the people trained in the Air Force to be Officers went through training at the official Officer Training School over at Maxwell AFB outside Colorado Springs, Colorado. While she had joined up to be a sensor technician, she gave him a sympathetic ear as he tried to shrug off the fact that he had originally joined up to become a fighter pilot.

Smoothly switching the conversation over to stories about his previous missions, he had helped ease her worry by describing all of the small irritating things that could go wrong, distracting her from the danger that they were in. Since all of the real fighting was happening miles away, there was only a slim chance that they would fall under attack themselves.

Unfortunately, a slim chance was all that was needed.

A single missile had managed to penetrate the defense grid, slipping through the hole left due to the faulty platform that they had been sent out to repair. Locking onto their helicopter's heat signature, the missile changed course and headed directly for them as it crossed no man's land.

Noticing the approaching danger, the pilot dropped a decoy flare and swerved the heavy Chinook helicopter out of the path of the oncoming missile as best he could. Only their quick reaction time, honed by the constant threat of attack in the region, had allowed them to avoid a direct hit that would have taken all of their lives.

Even though they avoided the full wrath of the missile, the concussive blast threw the helicopter out of control for several long moments as the edge of the explosion caught up with them. Broken pieces of hot metal from the expanding blast were peppering the body of the aircraft, when one of the frantic twists had turned the armored belly away from the explosion, exposing the two people in the back through the still open side doors.

Half turning to cover her body with his larger frame while they were tossed around, Riggs ended up saving her life when a piece of shrapnel found its way to them. From the angle it flew in, it would have come in from the less protected side of the bulletproof vest they had her put on, instead it hit the heavier material on the back of his own vest. While the jagged piece of metal barely managed to miss severing his spine or any major arteries as it pierced through the heavy bullet proof material, it had managed to do irreparable damage to his liver as it spent the last of its kinetic energy.

Once the crew had managed to bring the helicopter back under control, the co-pilot went into the back to check up on them. Seeing her frantically pressing her now blood covered hands against the lower back of her fellow First Lieutenant, being careful not to move the metal still embedded there, the crew made an immediate call to the nearest medical facility.

During the endless seeming flight back to base, she had frantically given prayer to every single Aesir and Vanir that she could remember, begging them to save the life of her new friend. Even now, her hand went to the Thor's Hammer that hung around her neck whenever she remembered that moment.

Thankfully they had reached the base in time to keep him from bleeding out, the medical staff already on standby with a stretcher to carry him from the damaged Chinook helicopter. As she had already been keeping pressure on the wound, they had her keep her hands in place until they reached the hospital they had landed next to, with a nurse taking over once they got him onto an actual gurney.

His liver had been a lost cause, too heavily damaged from the shrapnel that had pierced it to be repaired, and had to be removed immediately to prevent further damage to him. After hooking him up to a blood filtering machine to keep his blood toxicity down, they began work on getting him a replacement organ.

Knowing that finding a matching liver in the war torn region should be next to impossible, she had continued her prayers out in the waiting room, thinking that he would still be a lost cause. When an orderly in the hospital saw her there in the corner, staring at her own blood covered hands, they had gone over and gently led her off to the bathroom to clean off her hands and get changed out of her now bloody uniform.

Scrubbing her hands under the almost scalding water until they were raw, face wet with tears, her mind kept repeating the explosion over and over again. Guilt filled her at the thought that it was her fault that he had been hurt protecting her, and that it should be her lying there in the operation room dying, not him.

Seeing what she was going through, the orderly began to gently explain to her exactly how they were going to save her savior, doing their best to calm her down and reassure her that everything was going to turn out well in the end. When she eventually noticed that the orderly was talking, she turned her attention to what they were saying, and her mind soon locked upon their words.

An amazing new breakthrough in medical science had given an answer to the often fatal lack of donor organs.

Recently discovered was a chemical solution that could be used to wash an existing organ of the actual cellular matter, leaving behind the ghostlike transparent protein structure that gave it form. The orderly explained the process as being similar to renovating a house by knocking out all the walls but leaving the framing and pluming intact.

Taking one of these previously prepared 'blank' livers out of cold storage, they would then seed it with healthy cells from Riggs' own body. They would then place the new organ in a specially designed chamber that mimicked the conditions inside the human body, and hook it up to a nutrient drip solution. Within a week they would have a new liver fully regrown with his own cells, and be ready to transplant the healthy new organ into his body.

What made this procedure so groundbreakingly amazing was that, since the only actual cellular matter in the organ had been sampled from his own body, the organ was technically his own. As the potential of organ failure or rejection from a transplant mostly stemmed from either a blood type mismatch, or the body noticing the foreign DNA in the replacement, this new process was a miracle of modern medical science.

Testing for this procedure had been going on for decades before they were able to perfect the process of creating new from old in this manner. Other programs that tried creating 3d printed organs had eventually been set aside as impractical, as certain organs could now be taken even from livestock animals, due to the actual protein structure and physical dimensions of their organs were enough of a match.

Since the military had the necessary funding, and a high risk of organ damage due to the dangers of combat, there had been ample reason for the base hospital to have everything needed right on hand.

Once the orderly had finished explaining exactly how they were going to save the life of her new friend, the hospital staff allowed her to visit the injured airman as he lay in a hospital bed, looking paler than before and hooked up to a blood filtering machine. When she entered she had experienced the next big shock of the day, as he had somehow managed to convince the hospital staff to bring in a laptop with video conferencing on it, through which he was talking a pair of enlisted technicians through the repairs needed to bring the missile defenses back up and running again.

It amazed her that, despite having just survived a potentially fatal injury and woken up just a short time ago from the surgery that had removed his damaged organ, his sense of duty was so strong that he refused to let his task go incomplete. Seeing now the strength behind the man that she had been joking with earlier that day, she had been amazed by his depth of character.

She had been able to stay in the hospital to keep him company for a short time afterwards, having been given leave from active duty for several days due to her near death experience. While chatting with him as he lay there in bed awaiting his new liver, she had discovered that they had a lot in common despite their different upbringings.

By the time he had been released from the hospital with a clean bill of health, they had begun flirting with the idea of going out with each other to see if they might work out as a couple. After going back to their own separate units they had managed to stay in touch via shared emails and the occasional video call, and had begun to plan how they would meet up the next time they got sent back Stateside on furlough.

All of their well laid plans had come to a grinding halt, and they had been forced to shelve their growing feelings when they had both been assigned to the Lunar Ghost program. By that point he had been promoted to the rank of First Lieutenant, gaining silver to his rank bar to go along with his purple heart.

As he now not only outranked her, but was also directly above her in the chain of command, the Uniform Code of Conduct now forbid any kind of relationship more serious than being friends. There was little chance that their professionalism would allow them to risk either of their military careers despite their personal feelings.

Snapping herself out of memory lane, the petite redhead looked down to notice a piece of paper lying unattended next to his door, face up on the corner of his desk. Curiosity winning out, she read the papers upside down, eyes slowly widening as she found out about his immediate reassignment to the 45th Space Wing.

Reading further along, she found out that not only was he being moved to the NASA headquarters, he was also being assigned as the new Lunar Lander pilot of the ARES II rocket. Quickly making the connection, she realized that meant that he was going to be one of the first men to land on the Moon since the last mission in December of 1972.

A squeak escaped her, causing her to slap her hands over her mouth and look up at Riggs, their eyes meeting from across the room. Her heart skipped a beat as a brilliant grin grew on his face upon seeing her there, before fading away as he looked from her and down to his orders, then over to his mostly packed bag. Reaching down, he gently placed the picture, frame and all, between several pairs of BDU pants for padding, finally zipping his tank bag closed.

"I'm sorry I haven't spent much time with you the last few days, Liz," he told her. "They've just had me so busy working over with Doctor Hamlin ever since Sunday, and encouraging me to work in the Lander simulator. I must not have said more than a dozen words to you outside of work, and now they got me hopping on a plane and leaving you behind like this..."

"Don't apologize," she told him, picking up his orders and walking across the room to join him. "I'm just glad that I caught up with you before they carted you off. Besides, it's about time they did something more with your skills and you know it. Hell, with all the time they had you 'testing equipment' didn't you suspect something?"

"Well, it's still kind of a surprise," he confessed.

"There you have it, then," she said, smirking. "Reassigned to the good old 45th, rocketing up into space in the ARES II, and going where no man has gone before. Quite a move up from the Second Lieutenant that saved my life all those years ago, right?"

"What do you mean where no man has gone before," he responded, a frown on his face. "We've landed on the moon several times in the past."

"Yeah, but none of them ever explored an alien shipwreck while up there, have they," she noted, tapping the orders against his chest. "But you know what? I'm more than a little jealous of you right now. Ever since I was a little girl I always wanted to go into space. Yet here I am, and the closest I ever got is being in the Command Center watching over the Ghosts, viewing the heavens by proxy."

Having shared his own similar childhood dreams when he had been in the hospital, he had known that she had wanted to be able to go out there into space. Both of them had resigned themselves with the fact that they were never going to have the chance.

"But, you know what else?" she continued, breaking out into a beautiful grin. "I've been due for a promotion for a while, and with you out of the way I might just get that silver bar! Besides, with you reassigned to the 45th Space Wing over at Kennedy, we won't be in the same chain of command any longer."

Realization dawned on his face as he caught the meaning of that last statement, his eyes gaining a sparkle that they hadn't truly held ever since being assigned to the 101st at Lunar Outlook Air Force Base.

"I think they would be damned fools not to promote you," he told her. "By the way, I find myself in need of a pen pal while I'm off in space, can you think of anyone that might like to write to me on occasion?"

"I think someone could be found," she replied, loving the way his eyes seemed to glow when he was happy. "Maybe Dominguez would like to write to you, who knows?"

"Hey, now!" he said, mock scowling at her.

"Kidding, kidding," she said over her sudden laughter. "And don't worry, I'll keep an eye on things over in the Command Center. After all, without someone to watch your back, you never know what might happen!"

"Ouch, don't remind me," he winced, pressing a hand against the hidden scars on his lower back. "Will you ever forgive me for leaving you in charge of that madhouse?"

"If you're good, and bring me back some alien tech to drool over, I might find it in my heart to forgive you," she confessed. "Some day."

Shaking his head at his friend's antics, he accepted the orders from her hand and folded them up, placing them into the left breast pocket next to his aviator sunglasses. Grabbing the hefty tank bag from his bed, he lifted it over his right shoulder and grabbed the other strap in his left hand. Pulling the combination backpack duffel bag securely onto his back, and settling the straps to make sure that the bag was settled correctly, he did a quick check around his room.

Assured that he wasn't leaving anything behind except the woman who someday might be more than just a very good friend, he mentally prepared himself for their parting.

Having a sudden thought, she ran her fingers beneath the collar of her uniform, and found the thick gold chain that hung there with her dog tags. Fiddling with the jewelers clasp at the back of her neck, she finally got it undone, allowing her to pull the ends forward. Slowly, the long gold chain drew itself from the top of her jacket, revealing the heavy Thor's Hammer that hung from the bottom.

"This pendant belonged to my father, and my father's father, and my father's father's father," she told him, holding it up between them. "It would mean a lot to me if you were to wear this during your voyage, may it bring you protection, strength, and fortune."

"I don't feel right, taking something from you that belonged to your father," Riggs confessed to her. "I know how much that necklace means to you."

"Then you know you will have to make sure that you keep it safe," she told him, piercing him with her bright green eyes. "And keep yourself a safe as well, knowing what I will do to you in Valhalla should you lose your life up there."

"Are you so sure I will go to Valhalla?" he asked her, quirking an eyebrow. "After all, that is where warriors go when they die in battle."

"Ha!" she exclaimed, quirking her own eyebrow in response. "I saw you lose your liver, and nearly your life, to a missile in the skies over the Middle East. I do not believe that you will go quietly, you will be fighting against your Fate until your very last breath. Besides, if you look far enough back into your bloodline, you will see Norsemen staring back at you with fire in their eyes."

"Well, how can I refuse, with such a glowing appraisal?" he said, accepting the gift.

Having to lean forward and bend his head down to give the short woman access to his neck, he resisted laughing as her fingers tickled as she worked on closing the clasp again. Once she was done, she reached down to the Thor's Hammer itself, and tucked it into the front of his shirt where gravity had pulled it away from his chest.

Standing up now that she had finished, he noted in the back of his head how warm it felt beneath his shirt, heated up by the warmth of her own body. Moments later he realized exactly where the necklace had just been nestled to get that warm, and he had to fight to keep from blushing at the visual.

Now that she was done giving him her necklace, Stevenson went back to the open door and poked her head out into the hallway, checking both directions to make sure that nobody was nearby. Assured that they were as alone as they could possibly be on base, and knowing this would be the last time that she saw him face to face for Odin knows how long, she braced herself for what she was about to do next.

A startled look passed over his face once she stepped back across the room, and he realized how close she was suddenly standing to him. Moments later, her hands lashed out to grab the collar of his BDU jacket, pulling his head down to her height with a strength disproportional to her petite frame.

As kisses go, it was not one that lent itself to flowery lines of poetry, nor was it the sort of kiss that you would find in a steamy romance novel. In fact, with this being their first kiss, it was rather awkward all things considered. Their noses bumped together before they tilted their heads to compensate, and he stood there like a wooden statue, half frozen in shock.

By the time his brain had caught up with itself and he began to enjoy the kiss, their lips parted as she released her hold on his jacket. Taking a step backwards, she stood straight and snapped off a picture perfect salute to the man she had just barely avoided breaking regs with, since he was now officially assigned to a separate Wing by the papers in his pocket.

Her heart was beating a mile a minute in her chest as she looked on at the shocked amazement on her handsome friend's face. She almost couldn't believe it herself that she had just up and kissed him like that, but she had been fighting the urge over the past several months while working in close quarters with him. Perhaps it was the excitement of the moment, or the thought that something might happen and she could never see him again, but whatever the reason that drove her to their first kiss, she didn't regret the slightly bruised feel she now sported on her lips.

Holding her sharp salute, she watched as his brain rebooted itself from the sudden kiss, enjoying the emotions that flittered half formed across his face. After a long moment, his mind snapped back to the present moment, and he snapped his hand up in a salute of his own. Grinning at each other, they sheepishly lowered their hands, the moment passing.

"You had better get going," she pointed out. "After all, it would be a damned shame if they flew off without you... Sir."

"Yes, Ma'am!" he replied.

Shaking her head in amusement as he dodged past her, uniform boots thundering down the hallway as he went, she fought against the dull ache that filled her chest. She would miss him, by the Aesir would she miss him, but their futures looked brighter now than they had been before he got those orders. Maybe, if the Norns were feeling generous, they would get to find out of there was a future for them together.

Either way, things were about to get interesting

* * *

**Washington DC, White House - Wednesday, Nov 5, 2025 - Evening**

On the East Coast the Sun was nearing the horizon, signaling the end of another long day for President Steele.

He had received an urgent call from Rafe Holmes, the Director of National Intelligence, requesting a private meeting as soon as possible. Arranging for the meeting to happen in the currently unoccupied Situation Room beneath the West Wing of the White House had been relatively easy, though scheduling to take the time out of his rather busy day had caused no small amount of stress to his staff.

Two Secret Service Agents stood guard on either side of the single door to the room, neither of them reacting until the president got to within ten feet of them. One of the agents whispered a quiet command into his radio, while the other nodded to the president to indicate that the room was safe, and opened the door.

Slightly renovated during his stay in office, the walls were now lined with crisp lcd monitors from waist height to the edge of the low ceiling. During official meetings the screens usually displayed video feeds from other heads of state, or other pertinent images as needed. Currently the screens were all off, casting a half shadow on the room and making it seem smaller than it actually was.

Sitting to one side of the heavy wooden table was Holmes, dressed this evening in a dark brown three piece suit in the height of Victorian era style, looking oddly out of place in the middle of his otherwise modern surroundings. Upon the polished surface of the table sat two pitchers of ice water, the glass closest to him a little over half full sitting on an official White House cup coaster.

With a nod, Lazlo left the two Agents guarding the hallway, and shut the door behind him. With a pneumatic hiss, the door sealed itself, the special construction guaranteeing that even if someone was right outside the door they could not overhear what was going on inside.

Walking across the rich blue carpets, the President reached his own designated chair, pausing as Holmes rose to shake his hand. Sitting his muscular frame down with a barely audible sigh, he settled in for what he hoped to be a short meeting. He had been on his feet, or in other meetings, the entire day. By this point his feet were killing him, despite the gel inserts in his very expensive shoes.

"I assume this is important enough to interrupt my planned meeting with the Ambassador of Angola?" he asked.

"Very much so," the Director assured him, "as it has to do with the discovery made last Sunday, and matters of national security."

This made the President sit up straight in his chair, all thoughts about the Angolan Ambassador fleeing to the back of his mind as he focused on the other man's words.

"Go on," he commanded.

"Over the past several months I have noticed a pattern," Holmes continued. "Certain manufacturers were altering prices ahead of future orders we were planning on making, causing a small inflation on operational costs to our Space Program. While a negligible increase in so far as overall spending is concerned, this is only part of a larger problem, as I have recently discovered.

"In the past few months, there has been information leaked to the numerous media outlets far ahead of schedule. Small details at first, mostly harmless little tidbits of information obviously sold to the highest bidder for a tidy profit, but still the kind of information we planned to release on our own a short while later. It all seemed rather innocent at first, and nothing that would require the full attention of the Intelligence Community.

"However, by following the pattern of who would have access to this information, I managed to narrow it down to a very small list of suspects. Due to the sensitivity of the information that has been leaked, all of the signs pointed directly to the NASA Headquarters. More specifically, a very small group of individuals there who could possibly have access.

"After narrowing it down, and studying the evidence, I have discovered who our Mole was. The only person with access to all of the information, and the personal experience to be able to give this information away in a manner that would make any sense to someone looking for it, is Captain Philip Howell."

A chill sent down the President's spine as he realized that the traitorous man they were talking about was scheduled to go on a mission to study an alien shipwreck in less than two weeks.

They had managed to keep a lid on this discovery for the past three days, even going so far as to put the Lunar Outlook base on lockdown to ensure nothing leaked from that direction. If Howell had managed to give information about this discovery to their enemies...

Reaching a shaking hand out to pour himself a glass of water, Lazlo wished that he had something stronger to drink. Unfortunately for his nerves, he had quit drinking alcohol after Sharon had been cured of her cancer, as a gift to the love of his life.

"Please tell me he hasn't leaked anything about the Anomaly," he asked.

"We are in luck there," Holmes assured him. "Briefing on the secondary objective of the Constellation I mission is actually scheduled for tomorrow."

"Thank god," the President muttered.

"I had Director Kemon, the head of Air Force OSI, send a few of her men to detain him yesterday evening," the man continued. "At this point in time our greatest concern is discovering who he had been reporting to, how they originally managed to compromise him, and what all he has managed to tell them so far."

"Have we gotten any information from him yet?" Lazlo asked.

"He is on a plane headed to Guantanamo Bay as we speak," Holmes replied. "We will conduct our interviews there, where we can more easily guard against any interference from his unknown benefactors."

"Good," Lazlo nodded. "I want to find out whoever they are, and hammer them with everything we got. If information had gotten out about the crashed alien ship, then there would be a California Gold Rush by every launch capable nation on the planet to get there first, and then there would be no way we would be able to keep it away from public eye long enough to discover anything."

Taking a moment to drink some of his water, he thought of the disaster that they had just narrowly avoided, as a more comfortable silence filled the room. Reassured that the mission was still secure, he spared a moment to wonder how in the hell Holmes had been able to piece all of this information together. Thinking about the upcoming mission brought a rather uncomfortable thought to his head moments later.

"Wait, if Howell was the pilot of the Lunar Lander, and he's on his way to Gitmo for being a traitor," the President said, thick brows crashing down over his gray eyes, "who in the hell are we going to get to pilot the mission? It took them months to get that man trained up to land the damned thing, and we really don't have months to spare."

"Luckily, Doctor Hamlin over at Lunar Outlook Air Force Base has solved that problem ahead of time," Holmes assured him. "Ever since taking over the scientific side of the Lunar Ghost project, he has been carefully nurturing the skills of a young First Lieutenant on base. I have read his service jacket, as well as the test results that Doctor Hamlin has forwarded to me. While he might not have been in the Service for as long as Howell, he actually scores higher in the aptitude tests pertaining to what is required for the Constellation missions."

"I see," Lazlo nodded, glad to hear this news. "And does the young First Lieutenant have a name?"

* * *

**Lunar Outlook AFB, Airfield - Wednesday, Nov 5, 2025 - Mid Day**

First Lieutenant Simon Riggs, formerly of the 101st Space Wing, was having quite possibly the best day of his entire life.

First he had been given orders for reassignment to the 45th Space Wing over at NASA Headquarters. Not only that, but the orders were specifically for him to be assigned to the ARES II rocket, meaning that he was going to be going not only into space, but also to the Moon.

Secondly, since he was going to the Moon, that meant that he was going to get to live out another one of his childhood dreams, and explore an alien ship! Okay, a questionably old, half destroyed alien shipwreck, but it still counts.

Third, since he was no longer in the direct chain of command over his close friend Elizabeth Stevenson, the Uniform Code of Conduct would no longer prevent them from seeing if a closer relationship would work out.

He could admit to himself that he had fallen for the quirky little redhead the moment they had met before that fateful mission. During his recovery, the connection between the two of them had grown in a way that he could have never expected, and it had hurt when they had finally met face to face again, only to have him directly above her in the Chain of Command.

Finally, the kiss they had shared kept replaying in his head during his entire trip across the base. His only regret was that he had been so shocked when she grabbed him and pulled him down like that he hadn't really responded till near the end. It was nothing like what he imagined, him taking her in his arms, leaning over her with her body cradled in his arms as he swooped in for the kiss of the century.

Of course, since it was the first time that he had ever kissed her, he would always remember it as being the best kiss of his entire life. At least, he hoped, until he got a chance to kiss her again.

Thinking of where her still warm Thor's Hammer necklace rested, and the memory of her lips on his, he almost didn't realize at he pulled up to the landing field in his electric cart.

Quickly stopping the cart before it drove onto the tarmac, he hit the engine kill switch and reached over for his bag. Hefting the heavy tank bag onto his back, being careful not to crush the orders poking out of his breast pocket, he got out of the cart and headed towards the waiting plane.

A nearby group of aircraft mechanics were doing a poor job of acting natural, gathered together on the edge of the field talking with each other, while it was obvious that they were all watching the Osprey idling nearby. One of the mechanics nudged the man next to her with an elbow, lifting her chin in Riggs' direction as he walked out onto landing field. Several pairs of eyes followed him as he walked towards the plane, making him roll his own eyes behind the mirrored lenses of his aviator sunglasses.

He just knew that the base was going to explode with gossip as soon as they saw him get on the plane.

Making sure that both straps were secure on his shoulders, he made his way across the hot tarmac. His sharp eyes spotted two armed airmen at the back of the tilt rotor plane, deadly black assault rifles held at port arms as they stood guard. As he made his way towards the plane, the closest of the two men snapped his attention in his direction, the other man keeping his head on a swivel in case anyone else decided to approach.

Once he was within a short distance of the plane, the first airman walked towards him, the tag on the man's tactical vest showing that his name was Austin, the patch on his shoulder showing his Staff Sergeant rank.

"Sir, I am going to have to ask you to step away from the plane," Staff Sergeant Austin advised.

"I have orders to report to this plane, Staff Sergeant," Riggs responded, uncomfortable under the steely gaze coming from the second guard still standing by the ramp.

"I'm going to need to see those orders then, Sir," Austin responded.

Reaching a hand up, Riggs grabbed the folded paper sticking out of his breast pocket, and handed it towards the Staff Sergeant. Taking the paper from his hand, the other man unfolded it beneath the wind of the idling plane with both hands, keeping a firm grip so that it did not fly away. While he did this, the second airman stood guard, assault rifle still held ready across his chest.

After a few moments of intense study, Austin reached one hand down to his tactical vest, bringing out a small tablet pc no larger than his hand. Holding its high definition camera up to the barcode on the orders, he confirmed receipt. Asking Riggs to remove his sunglasses, the Staff Sergeant then aimed the device towards the First Lieutenant's face as he squinted in the harsh desert sunlight.

Using the same proprietary software used at the Administration Building entrance on base, the image of his face was passed through a database to confirm his identity. When his identity was confirmed as matching the orders, the Staff Sergeant nodded to the second airman standing guard, and handed the paper back to Riggs.

"Get in and pick a seat, Sir," Austin told him. "Our orders are to take off as soon as you were aboard, and daylight is burning. We have a long flight ahead of us."

"Will this plane be bringing us all the way to Kennedy?" he asked, stepping into the shaded rear of the plane.

No longer needing them, he folded his sunglasses back up and put them back in his breast pocket, followed by the folded orders. Walking past several empty seats until he reached the middle of the plane between the wings, he took off his heavy bag and put it on one of the canvas and metal chairs, and settled himself beside it.

Once he had sat down, the second airman hit the ramp control and closed the back of the plane up, blocking off their view of the landing field and the warehouse buildings beyond. With an almost silent sigh of relief, Austin sat in the seat across from him, then reported into his shoulder mounted radio that they were ready to take off.

"This plane is taking us as far as Peterson Air Force Base, up in Colorado Springs," Austin finally answered. "Once we reach Peterson, they have us switching over to a C-130 that will take us the rest of the way. We will be flying from there with some supplies headed towards Kennedy Space Center, to disguise the purpose of the flight.

"I won't lie to you, sir. Something has really stirred the hornets' nest up in Washington, and the less I know about it the better off I will be. Our job is to guard you until we can hand you over to Major General Lee, the Base Commander over at Kennedy."

"Understood, Staff Sergeant," Riggs nodded to the man. "I appreciate the escort, and I will do my best not to make your job any harder than it already is."

"Much appreciated, Sir," the man nodded back.

Taking a moment to pull the orders back out from his pocket, he quickly read them over once more, trying to wrap his head around the turn his life had just taken. He had come a long way from being grounded by General Greenwode for being too good with reading sensors.

Now here he was, on a plane headed along a journey that would first lead him across the nation to Kennedy Space Center in Florida, and eventually from there into space, and the Moon itself. Not only that, but once they had settled on the Moon, they would exploring a crashed alien ship. Who knew what kind of strange things they would find in there?

Folding the paper back up and placing it back in his pocket, he rested his hand on the front of his shirt where Stevenson's necklace rested against his skin. Despite the excitement about what the future held for him up in space, his mind kept turning to the young woman he had just left behind, and the memory of that first kiss.


End file.
